


Trippin' Balls

by Rockinmuffin



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Be prepared for some crazy hijinks y'all because some of these are wacky, Comedy, F/M, Female Pronouns for Reader, Female Reader, Fluff, Gen, General, Humor, Multi, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romance, mostly cartoon and non-graphic but Frieza is kind of a jerk in the first one, reader is not allowed to babysit, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8573584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockinmuffin/pseuds/Rockinmuffin
Summary: Judging by the title, this is either a collection of silly reader-insert one shots with Dragon Ball characters or a delusional writer's fan fiction-equivalent of a bad acid trip.Spoiler:  It's both.Previous: You x (GT) GotenMost Recent: You x Supreme Kai





	1. Pet

**Author's Note:**

> This collection of one shots was originally posted on Lunaescence but they're currently kaput, I'm kind of fond of these, and I figured there was no harm in cross-posting them here. There are 19 different one shots currently completed and it's the game plan to update one each day until they're all posted. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. :)
> 
> Timeline for this particular one shot is possibly AU, set somewhere between the battle with Frieza on planet Namek and when he and his father arrive on earth to get sliced up by Future Trunks. To sum it up, Frieza decides to get to Goku by going after his family; specifically his wife. Too bad Earth girls all look the same.
> 
>  
> 
> **You x Frieza**

When you were a little kid, more than anything in the world, you wanted to be an astronaut. You’d always dreamed of going to space, exploring new worlds and coasting along the stars like some kind of modern-day space-faring Lewis and Clark.

Now that you’re here, though, inside a strange-looking ship surrounded by stranger-looking aliens in armor, you’re beginning to think that space isn’t all you first thought it was cracked up to be.

Sitting in an armchair that might as well be a throne, an armored alien at either side, is the coldest-looking, _scariest_ son of a bitch you’ve ever seen. His body is a Frankenstein-esque mismatch of robotic parts fused with the organic. He’s by no stretch the biggest or even the most intimidating alien you’ve seen in the relatively short time since being abducted, but there’s something about his eyes that _screams_ cold blood-thirsty psychopath.

“So,” he sneers, leaning forward in his throne. “This is the monkey’s bride?”

The alien behind you—the lizard-lipped one who brought you here—stands at attention. “Yes, Lord Frieza.”

The one called Lord Frieza stands up from his seat, moving towards you with slow, purposeful steps. He kneels down until his face is level with yours and grabs your chin, turning your head this way and that way. You gulp and his lips quirk as his eyes follow the bob of your throat. 

“Tell me,” he says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper. “How loud must I make you scream to bring Son Goku running here, hmm?”

“Son Whosit?”

“Goku.” His brows rise at your lack of response. “Your husband.”

“Husband?” You blink. “I hate to break it to you, mostly because you look like the type of guy who kills the messenger, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not married. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“I hope you don’t think that you can lie about your identity to protect your precious primate. I _detest_ liars, especially those who aren’t any good at it.”

You shrug as casually as a person staring Death in the face can. “Hey, man. If I’m lying, I’m dying.”

Frieza’s hand tightens on your chin, fingertips pressing into your skin with enough pressure to bruise. He jerks your head forward, bringing you nose-to-nose as he looks deeply into your eyes. You stare back, your own eyes open and your expression as neutral as you can possibly manage.

Finally, he loosens his grip, pushing you backwards with an irritated growl. You fall back on your ass but are no worse for the wear.

The same cannot be said for the lizard-lipped alien behind you.

“You brought me the wrong human.” Frieza’s tail whips back and forth behind him, much like a cat that’s ready to lunge.

“Please, Lord Frieza, forgive m—”

Before the words are fully out of his mouth, Frieza’s hand pierces through the center of his chest. It goes all the way through, the tips of Frieza’s fingertips poking out from his back. There’s a breathy gasp as the alien looks down at the wound, then back at Frieza, then up into the back of his skull.

Frieza pulls his hand back, and the man falls to the floor, stone cold _dead_. Bright pink blood dribbles down Frieza’s arms in dripping rivulets.

“You’re forgiven,” he smirks.

Frieza bends down to wipe off the blood onto the front of the alien’s breastplate. He inspects his own hand, fingers extended as he nonchalantly turns his wrists left and right. Satisfied, he kicks the body aside, causing it to slam against the wall with the sickening crack of breaking bones.

“Now…” He turns to you and you cringe. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right where you stand.”

_Because I want to live_ , is the first thought that pops to mind, but you keep it to yourself. You get the impression that this guy doesn’t value sentient life the same way you do.

Instead, you decide to appeal to his sense of practicality.

“Well, I hear bloodstains are a real pain to clean up. And let me tell ya’, I’m a bleeder.”

“Oh?” he raises a brow, a dark half-amused glint flashing in his eyes. “Maybe I don’t mind a little blood. This room could use a fresh coat of paint, don’t you think?”

“True. I see you’ve already started redecorating,” you say, nodding towards the dead body sprawled across the room. “The pink’s a nice touch; really brightens the place up. But, you see, my blood’s red. The colors would clash something awful.” You snap your fingers in an _Aw, shucks!_ sort of gesture. “Looks like you’ll just have to murder somebody else.”

The corner of his lip twitches into something akin to a smile. He breathes out a soft chortle, which grows into a moderate chuckle, and finally explodes into a loud ear-aching cackle that bounces off the walls of the spaceship.

You and the two aliens still standing on either side of Frieza’s chair share a look, the three of you equal measures of confused and creeped out.

“Ah,” Frieza wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, laughter settling. “I haven’t laughed like that since I blew up planet Vegeta. Congratulations; you’ve earned your life.”

“…Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” Well, say what you want about his psychotic penchant for cold-blooded murder, but at least he’s got good manners.

Cautiously, you rise from the floor, keeping your movements slow and non-threatening. Not that you could ever be a threat to this maniac, but the last thing you want is for him to _think_ you think you could be a threat. “So, does this mean I get to go back home?”

“You misunderstand.” He paces around you, arms folded behind his back and tail swaying casually. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I find you amusing. You will remain here with me until you have outlived your novelty.”

“ _Oh_.”

“This will be fun,” he smiles. The cold look in his eyes matched with the tight grin on his face is the most terrifying thing you have ever seen. And you literally watched this guy punch his fist through a man’s chest like he had been made out of paper. “I’ve always wanted a pet.”

“Pet?”

“Yes, a _pet_.” His eyes narrow into slits but that tight-lipped smile remains. “Unless your sense of misplaced pride is greater than your will to live. Do you have anything smart to say to that?”

“Uh, woof woof?”

He chuckles again, placing his hand on the top of your skull.

You wince. You can feel the sharp tips of his fingers as they carelessly dig into your scalp.

“Good pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	2. Driving You Mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by 42Miracles from Lunaescence, who wanted some crazy driving shenanigans with everyone’s favorite green asexual slug man. It’s up to you guys if you want to interpret the relationship as romantic or platonic. And feel free to make a request—or multiple requests—of your own!
> 
>  
> 
> **You x Piccolo**

“Hey, Piccolo, you’ve driven a car before, right?”

The sound of your voice interrupts Piccolo’s meditation. He opens a single eye to glance at you suspiciously. “Yeah,” he drawls.

“Good.” You smile, mouth wide and teeth gleaming. “I need you to teach me how to drive.”

He opens the other eye so that he can direct the full power of his icy glare towards you. “Why are you asking me? Isn’t this the kind of thing your parents should have taught you when you were a teenager?”

“Well, they tried to teach me when I was younger, but it didn’t go over so well. They still won’t set foot in a car with me. Not since the hotdog cart incident.”

He raises an eye ridge. “Wait, what happened during the hotdog cart incident?”

Your eyes take on a glossy sheen. “Buns and franks as far as the eye can see. Everything’s covered in ketchup and relish. _So much screaming…_ ”

“Forget I asked.” He sits up, looking like he’s going to find somewhere else to meditate.

You grab his cape before he can fly off. “Piccolo, please! I live too far away from where I work to walk and I’m not allowed to take the bus anymore.”

“That’s your own fault.”

“How was I supposed to know that bringing live animals on board public transit was frowned upon? Besides, that raccoon was ten times better-behaved than the bus driver and smelled better too!” Piccolo rolls his eyes at you and you know you need to change tactics. You get down on your knees before him, hands clasped together like you’re praying. “C’mon, Piccolo, help me out. I’m _desperate_.”

As an experienced warrior, Piccolo has learned how to recognize when he’s me his match. And when you stare up at him with those big watery eyes of yours, he knows he’s facing an opponent he can’t beat.

Finger pressed to his temple, he releases a drawn-out, defeated sigh. “Fine.”

“Yaaaaaay~!”

Since neither of you actually own a car, you borrow one of Bulma’s to practice with. And by _borrow_ , you mean _take without her knowledge_. She’s got plenty of cars—she even has a _spaceship_ —so you figure she won’t miss it.

For a powerful alien who once threatened the entire earth and now places himself directly in the path of danger on a near-daily basis, Piccolo puts an awful lot of emphasis on the importance of wearing a seatbelt.

After a few parking exercises and a couple of miles riding along the back roads, Piccolo deems you competent enough to drive on the highway. You have a minor panic attack when first merging into traffic and you’re driving just a few miles under the speed limit, but Piccolo seems content to let you take things at your own pace.

All and all, the lesson is going better than you expected. Well, until somebody honks their horn at you as they pass you from the slow lane.

“Are you just going to let him get away with that?!”

You glance at Piccolo from out of the corner of your eye. “Um, _yes_?”

“Wrong! No one will respect you as a driver if you let everyone walk all over you. You need to be more aggressive.”

You blink. “But I—”

“GO!”

Startled, you slam your foot down on the gas pedal. The tires screech and the engine rumbles as you race along the highway. The more speed the car picks up, the more adrenaline pumps into your veins. Your nervousness drains away and, before you know it, you’re experiencing some kind of natural drug-induced euphoria.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel and you grin.

Within seconds, you catch up with the car that honked at you earlier. You and Piccolo exchange a look then turn to the driver and give him the middle finger. You linger just long enough to see the offended expression on his face before speeding past him.

You throw your head back and laugh. “Oh my god!” you scream. “This is awesome!”

Piccolo smirks back.

And that’s about the time that you hear the sirens.

You glance at your rearview mirror and confirm what you already know. “Oh shit, it’s the po’po’!”

“What’s Mr. Popo doing down here?”

“No man, it’s the pigs.”

“Oolong?”

You take your eyes off the road just long enough to stare him down with a blank look. “The police.”

Piccolo cranes his neck backwards to get a good look at the police car. “What do they want?”

“I think they want me to pull over.” You sneak another peek through your mirror. They’re close and getting closer by the second.

“And surrender just like _that_? What kind of warrior _are_ you?”

“I’m _not_ a warrior. I barely qualify as a productive member of society. And this is hardly a battle.” A quick glance to your left shows that the squad car is now pacing right next to you and the officers look _pissed_. You bite your lip. “So if you don’t want me to pull over, what am I supposed to do?”

“This.”

Piccolo grabs the steering wheel and gives it a sharp jerk to the left. You slam into the side of the police car, the screech of metal ringing in your ears as the car frames spark and scrape together. Another jerk on the wheel and the police car veers off the road. You watch in wide-eyed, open-mouthed stupor as the squad car flips into the air, crashes back down onto the earth, and then rolls off the side of the cliff you were currently driving on.

“Oh my god, Piccolo; I think we just murdered those men.”

“Calm down.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “That fall looked worse than it was. I’m sure those police officers are perfectly fi—”

And then the car explodes.

“…Never mind.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Does this kind of thing happen often out on the road?” you ask, voice muffled from behind your palms.

“I don’t know. I never actually got my driver’s license.”

“WHAT?!” You jolt up in your seat, hands dropping from your face to your sides. “But you said you’ve driven before!”

“I have,” he shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I passed my driving exam.”

“I can’t even…” You run your fingers across your scalp. “How am I going to explain this hot mess?”

“Yeah… Good luck with that,” he says as he unbuckles his seatbelt and flies away.

“Piccolo, you bring your big green ass back down here this instant! PIIIIIIIIIICCOOOOOOOLOOOOOO!”

Alas, all you can do is watch his retreating form become smaller and smaller until he is nothing but a speck along the horizon.

Next time you need driving lessons, you’re asking Bulma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	3. Do Androids Dine On Electric Sheep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Mai Blade from Lunaescence. Hope you like it, dear. This beautiful butt-munch gave me a struggle but hopefully he’s not too out of character.
> 
> Timeline takes place some time when Androids 16, 17, and 18 are leisurely looking around for Goku.
> 
>  
> 
> **You x Android 17**

It’s your first night watching your family’s diner all by yourself.

Some people might be a little intimidated by that; watching the place all alone so late at night, but not you. You’ve been waiting for this moment since the first day you were handed your grease-stained apron. You’re beyond ready for the responsibility.

Besides, it’s located in a small friendly town where everyone knows everybody’s name. Nothing exciting or dangerous ever happens here. Still, while most of your customers are local regulars, you’re close enough to the highway that you’ll get a wayward traveler from time to time.

So when a truck pulls up into the lot and two teenagers and a giant step out and walk into the diner, you don’t think much of it. You just grab a few menus and wait for them to take their own seat.

“Why are we even stopping here? We don’t need to eat.” The blonde teen flicks her bangs out of her face. “This is a complete waste of our time.”

The boy slouches his shoulders, hands digging deep into his pockets. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Sis. We’re in no rush. Besides, don’t you want to sample what this fine establishment has to offer?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Not really. This place smells like road kill and burnt butter.”

“Well, 16 likes it.” He turns his head towards the giant. “Ain’t that right, buddy?”

“Son Goku is not here,” says the big guy. “But the homey small town atmosphere is nice.”

“See? He likes it.”

“Whatever.” Despite her apparent disdain, she follows her brother’s lead when he plops down into a booth.

Once they’re all comfortable in their seats, you approach them. “Welcome, strangers,” you greet as you pass out the menus. “Do y’all need some time to look over the menus?”

The boy hands his menu right back to you. “I think we’re ready to order.”

You raise a brow. They’ve only had a second to glance at the menu, but hey, maybe he just wants eggs or something. You tuck the menu under your armpit and pull a notepad and pen out of your apron pocket. “What can I get’cha?”

The girl orders chicken and waffles with a glass of water. The boy orders country-fried lamb chops and a Coke. The big guy just gets a chocolate milkshake.

Within a minute, you bring out their drinks. About ten minutes more and you bring them their meals. For the most part, you leave them to themselves, only approaching the table when their drinks get low. You usually try to be a little more friendly and attentive, but every time you get close the blonde girl gives you the stink eye.

When their plates are empty and pushed toward the edge of the table, you muster enough courage to check in on them.

“So,” you say, taking their plates. “How was your food?”

“Not bad,” the boy answers with a half-smile. “My compliments to the chef.”

You smile politely. “Thanks. I haven’t made that dish too many times, so I’m glad it turned out well.”

“Wait,” he blinks. “You cooked this?”

“Yes’sir.”

He gives you a thumbs-up. “Nice.”

You raise an eyebrow at the dated gesture, but keep your smile all the same. “So, did any of you save room for dessert?”

“Nah,” he pats his stomach. “We’re good.”

The girl rolls her eyes, but says nothing.

“Alrighty then. I’ll be right back with your bill.”

By the time you come back with the bill, the three of them are already on their way out the door.

“H-hey,” you shout. “Wait! You forgot to pay.”

The teens laugh to each other, not even sparing you a glance as they let the door slam behind them, the big guy following silently behind them.

You stare at that closed door for just a second, unpaid bill clenched tight in your fist, before something inside of you _snaps_.

No. _Hell no_. You refuse to allow this to happen. Not on your first night. Because you’re a responsible adult, damn it, and like hell are you going to let some punks rob you your first night alone on the job. If they think they’re going to get away with this without a fight then they’ve got another thing coming.

Paper bill still clenched in your fist, you grab your keys, walk out the diner, and lock the door behind you before speed-walking your way across the parking lot.

By the time you make it over to the truck, the teens are just getting into their seats, the big guy already buckled up in the back.

“Hey!” you shout, waving the bill up over your head.

“Hey,” the guy grins at you in a way that might be attractive to you if he wasn’t trying to rob you blind. “Thanks again for the grub.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t free.”

He laughs.

“I’m serious!” you scowl. “You have to pay!”

“Cute.” He flashes you a mocking smile before turning the key into the ignition. The engine rumbles to life and he starts pulling out of the parking space.

You don’t think before you act; you don’t have time to do so. You just jump onto the side of the truck’s door, fingers gripping onto the window frame and head poking in through the open window.

“C’mon! Your total’s just $25.17! I don’t even care about a tip!”

“What kind of person hangs off the side of a car for 25 bucks?! You’re crazy.”

“I’m a responsible adult!”

“Just blast her and be done with it!” the girl growls out.

“But where’s the fun in that?” the boy replies with a laugh, turning his head towards her.

You stare at the back of his head but all you see is red. His turning away from you is the greatest offense he’s committed yet, even more so than the dine-and-dash. This guy has such a low opinion of you that he’s not even afraid to show you his back. You’re blood-boiling furious and he’s not even taking you seriously.

You decide to show him the dangers of underestimating the type of person who’s crazy enough to jump onto the side of a moving vehicle.

“PAAAAAAAAY YOOOOOOOUUUUR BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILL!” With one arm still hanging onto the window frame, the other reaches in and grabs hold of the steering wheel. You yank it towards yourself, causing the wheels to swerve. He tries to regain control of the wheel, jerking it back towards himself, but it just turns into a game of tug-of-war. The truck fishtails for a couple seconds before slamming into a telephone pole with enough force to throw you several yards away.

After a brief existential moment in which you question your life and your choices, you manage to pick yourself up with a wince and a groan. You’re covered in scratches and you think you might’ve bruised your tailbone but, all things considered, you’re alright.

The two teens and their beefy friend emerge from the truck without a scratch on them. Because life’s not fair.

The truck, however, is much worse for the wear. Smoke billows out from beneath its smashed hood while mystery fluids pour out from beneath the undercarriage.

The girl crosses her arms over her chest. “We can’t drive this thing anymore. It’s totaled.” She gives the front tire a kick for good measure and the whole truck tilts over a few seconds before falling back into place with an earth-rumbling _thump_.

“Aw, man,” the boy whines with about as much urgency as someone who’s spilled barbeque sauce on their pants leg. “I _liked_ this truck.”

You take a step towards them and all three turn to you.

“This is your fault, you know,” the boy tells you.

His sister turns toward him. “Can we kill her now?”

You frown and take another step forward. “I’m not dying until you’ve paid me my 25 bucks.”

“Damn, you have a one-track mind.”

The girl raises her hand, arm outstretched and palm facing you. You don’t know if she’s gesturing for you to stop or trying to move you with mind powers but whatever she’s doing, she’s interrupted by her brother placing his hand over her wrist and lowering her arm.

Her eyes narrow at him.

“C’mon, Sis. This is the most entertainment I’ve had since our last fight.”

She looks at her brother, then you, then back to her brother before taking a step back. “Fine.” She throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “16 and I are going to look for Goku. Have fun making out with your new girlfriend.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He turns back to you, making eye contact even as he continues talking to them. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a sec.”

“Whatever.”

You watch with big eyes as the girl and the big guy fly off. Just fly away. _Literally_. And at break-neck speeds to boot! Which makes you wonder; if they could fly all this time, why the hell were they driving in the first place?!

That particular train of thought leaves your mind when you find yourself nearly face-to-face with the raven-haired, blue-eyed teen who’s still looking at you like you’re some kind of joke even though you just managed to total his truck in a moment of inspired stupidity.

“So,” you cross your arms over your chest. “You finally decide to pay up?”

He chuckles quietly. You think it would be a nice sound if it wasn’t at your expense. “Look, kid, I admire your determination, but I don’t have any money.”

“What?! What kind of jerk walks around without any money?”

He shrugs his shoulders and you’ll be damned if his casual nonchalance about the situation isn’t the most frustrating thing you’ve ever had to deal with.

“I can’t… Words can’t even _describe_ how…” You struggle for words, jaw tightening and cheeks stretching as your face contorts into a series of ugly expressions. When your jaw becomes too sore to continue, you settle for a tight-lipped frown and narrowed eyes. “I really, _really_ don’t like you.”

He kisses your cheek.

“What.” You stare at him blankly but he remains silent. “What,” you repeat.

“I couldn’t help myself. Your angry expression was just too cute.” He flashes you a smile that’s probably supposed to be debonair and charming but just comes across as obnoxious. “Consider it payment for the bill we skipped out on.”

“I’d rather have the money.”

He laughs. “You’re fun. After we kill Goku, maybe I’ll come back and pay you a visit.”

“Please don’t.”

“See you ‘round,” he says, completely ignoring you. He gives you a two finger salute goodbye before blasting off and disappearing into the night sky.

You scowl, your face hot with righteous rage and definitely _not_ because a considerably attractive scumbag just kissed you and called you cute.

“Next time I see him, he better have my money. Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	4. Blame It On The Alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is for dragonfly from Lunaescence (or dragonfly_reborn here from AO3) who requested Bardock and the reader being the one Saiyan who heeded his warning.
> 
>  
> 
> **You x Bardock**

“I’m telling you, Frieza is going to blow up Planet Vegeta!”

You give your panicked friend a long look before leaning back and taking a large gulp from your mug. “Uh huh.”

“It’s the truth!” he growls, eyebrows furrowing and hackles rising. He looks about ready to tear his own tail off and start strangling all of the bar patrons with it. “Why doesn’t anybody believe me?!”

“I dunno, Bardock.” You twirl your mug with a gentle motion of your hand, watching the contents of your drink spin. “Maybe you shouldn’t preface your story by saying you saw all of this happen while in a violent trauma-induced fever dream."

“It wasn’t a dream! It was a premonition.”

“A premonition fuelled by crazy mind powers that were bestowed upon you by the dying curse of a freaky fish guy.”

“A _psychic_ fish guy.”

You set your mug down with a heavy clunk and a sigh. “Look, Bardock, I’m not saying that I think you’re lying. I know you wouldn’t be this worked up if you didn’t honestly believe all that. I’m just saying that maybe you ate something weird, had a bad dream, and now you’re misinterpreting the situation. I mean, why would Frieza commit genocide against a race of soldiers that are loyal to him?”

“Because he’s an evil, sadistic bastard.”

Well, he’s got you there. You shrug your shoulders then pick up your mug to take another sip.

“If you think I’m crazy, that’s fine. _Whatever_. I don’t need you to believe me; just _listen_ to me.” Bardock places a hand on your wrist. You open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it. “Get off the planet and lay low for a while. You don’t have to go for too long; just give it enough time for me to be proven right or wrong. Because you might be right, maybe I really am just making something out of nothing. Hell, maybe I _am_ going crazy, but even if I’m wrong, I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you when I could have prevented it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You getting sentimental on me, Bardock?”

“I’m being serious.”

You roll your eyes. “Bardock—” 

“Stop.” His grip on your wrist tightens. “Just humor me.”

Usually, this is about the time when you’d tease him for acting like a worried mother, maybe punch him in the shoulder for good measure, but there’s something about the look on his face that stops you short. There’s a steely, determined glint in his eyes that makes him look so serious and old beyond his years. It’s so unlike the brawl-loving foolhardy man you know him to be.

You huff and sputter and pull your wrist out of his grasp before throwing back the rest of your drink just so you can get a chance to think.

He keeps staring at you with that steely gaze of his. You feel your cheeks heat and blame it on the alcohol.

“Fine,” you relent, setting your empty mug down in front of you. “I’ve been meaning to take a vacation anyhow.”

“Thank you,” he smiles soft and warm and you know you can’t blame the alcohol for the way your heart skips a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	5. Bugging Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Rose from Lunaescence, who couldn’t decide between Trunks and Perfect Cell, so she gets her favorite villain first since I’m a girl who likes bad boys.
> 
> Timeline takes place sometime during the Cell Games.
> 
>  
> 
> **You x (Perfect) Cell**

You see the reports on TV. Thousands dead; absorbed or blown up or however that awful monster saw fit.

Surprisingly, you’re not afraid. Instead, you’re filled with a disgust-incensed rage deep down in your gut. You _hate_ bugs.

You know how to deal with problems like this.

You pack your knapsack with the essentials, climb into your car, and set your GPS for the location of these so-called _Cell Games_.

When you get there, it’s pure unadulterated chaos.

People are flying around, laser beams shooting out of their hands, and there’s a giant crater in the ground. Pint-sized blue insect men are swarming the area and there, in the center of it all, is the big green bastard responsible for the whole mess.

You park your car in the middle of the warzone, none-too-concerned whether or not it will survive the battle. You only have one goal in mind and that’s to show these bugs who’s boss.

You make your way towards Big Green, but one of the little blue pests comes straight for you.

“Buzz off,” you say, spraying a liberal amount of Raid point-blank in its face. It screams out in pain, hands rubbing and clawing at its eyes. You spare the little cretin no second glance as you continue on your way, leaving it in the dust. You’ve got your sights set on the big guy. After all, when you want to destroy a colony, you don’t squish each individual ant; you take out the queen.

You meet eyes from across the way and he wags his finger at you, as if your presence is as much threat to him as that of a petulant child, and _damn_ does that piss you off! If there’s one thing you hate more than bugs, it’s not being taken seriously. You grit your teeth and clench your fists and run full-speed towards the arrogant son of a cicada.

Two more of the little blue buggers zoom in from out of nowhere, ambushing you from either side.

“Shoo flies, don’t bother me.”

You pull a flyswatter out of your knapsack, slapping each of the pests smack-dab between the eyes. It doesn’t do any real damage but their shock at the sudden action stuns them long enough for you to lasso them in sticky fly tape and hurl them out of your way. You continue to charge towards the big one.

He smirks as you approach.

“And another player enters the game. Well done,” he claps his hands together in a slow, condescending manner. “I’ll admit, it’s impressive that someone with such an insignificant power level managed to subdue my children, but I’m in a league of my own. If you’re smart, you’ll turn back and run home while I still deign you amusing enough to live.”

And if you were pissed off before, you’re blood-boiling _furious_ now.

You toss your knapsack aside. Murder by insecticide lacks the personal, intimate touch that you think this jerk deserves. Besides, you’ve never met a bug your boot couldn’t handle. Sometimes the simplest methods are the best ones.

“If you think I scare that easy, you obviously have no idea who I am.” You bend over to roll up your pant leg. “Allow me to introduce you to my foot in your face!”

You jump in the air, aiming a high-kick square in the smug asshole’s jaw. You did _not_ anticipate him grabbing your ankle with your foot just a centimeter away from connecting the hit.

You blink. “Huh.”

“Hello _foot_.” The corners of his lips curl as his grip tightens. “Meet _excruciating pain_.”

And with a flick of his wrist, your ankle’s twisted at an awkward angle seconds before your whole body slams into the earth.

You attempt to pull yourself up, but fail miserably. You _know_ your ankle’s broken but you think you might’ve cracked a rib or two because it hurts like hell every time you take a breath.

You feel the vibrations of footfalls against the ground as he steps closer.

“Guess I should’ve thought this through a little more, huh?” you ask, wincing.

“Yes,” he agrees, pressing his boot against your cracked ribs, “You should have. But if it’s any consolation, you made it much farther than you ever should have been able to.”

“Gee,” you wheeze out. “Thanks.”

“I could kill you,” he continues, emphasizing his point by increasing the pressure of his boot against your ribcage. “But that seems like such a waste of a perfectly good source of entertainment. Tell you what; after I’ve taken care of Goku and all his friends, maybe I’ll take you on as a student and train you to be somewhat of a challenge to me, if such a thing is even possible.”

You stare up at him and, sure enough, there’s that smug-looking grin quirking the corners of his mouth.

Next thing you know, you’re kicked aside like a piece of garbage, rolling across the ground several feet and ending up with an extra cracked rib and a mouthful of dirt. You’d scream if it didn’t hurt too much to do so.

_Goddamn_ do you hate bugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	6. Sarah Connor Syndrome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Rose from Lunaescence, who wanted some Briefs boy lovin’. Sorry in advance for making the reader’s character a super freak. My mind got stuck on the potentials of creeper!reader and I just couldn’t let it go.
> 
> Timeline takes place just before the Z warriors go to confront the android threat in the city.
> 
> **You x (Future) Trunks**

You’re not sure who this beautiful purple-haired stranger is that’s popped out of nowhere to hang out with your super-powered weirdo friends, nor do you particularly care all that much about the little unimportant details. What does matter to you, however, is the fact that he’s got an attractive face, a nice well-toned body, a great smile, and a tight little booty that don’t quit.

Tunnel-vision focused on the nicest ass you’ve ever had the pleasure of viewing, you push straight past your friends—ignoring Yamcha’s friendly greeting and almost elbowing Krillin in the face—to introduce yourself to the owner of that super fine derriere.

As you approach him, he smiles, his hand rising in a lazy greeting. The smile falters, however, when you continue to step closer, completely invading his personal space to grab hold of his face with both hands and smoosh his cheeks until his lips purse.

“Who are you, you beautiful stranger?” you ask, turning his face this way and that.

“…’m Twunkth,” is the muffled reply; but to your ears, in _your_ current state of infatuation, all you hear is, “Future husband.”

After a long, awkward moment involving Bulma apologizing for your behavior and Krillin prying your arms off of Trunks and dragging you away from the beautiful man’s general vicinity, the gang gets back to focusing on what they were doing before your arrival, which _apparently_ involved making preparations for some dangerous battle with the fate of the world in its balance. So, just another average Tuesday morning.

Anticipating the fight of a lifetime, each of the warriors prepares themselves in their own way. Some of them do it by meditating; others, by limbering up. You watch from the sidelines as Trunks practices multiple impressive-looking moves with his sword.

Sweat is glistening off his skin and soaking his shirt. It’s not the gross, smelly kind of sweat, either; but the kind of sweat that only further emphasizes what a fit, muscular specimen of masculinity that you have the great pleasure of observing. It’s the kind of hot sweat that makes you want to lick the liquid right off his firm biceps.

He seems completely oblivious of your eyes on him; instead, he’s focused intently on the steel blade in his hand. He grips the hilt so hard his knuckles turn white and you kind of wish you were that sword because you’d do just about anything to get those hands to hold onto you that tightly and never let go.

You lick your lips. “Hey, Trunks, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Trunks continues to perform the motions of his swordplay, uninterrupted. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“So, you’re from several years in the future, right?”

“Yeah,” he grunts out in between swings.

“And you’re technically a newborn baby, correct?”

“Well, _I’m_ an adult, but yeah, during this point in the timeline I should just be a few months old.”

“So,” you say, watching a particularly delicious-looking bead of sweat roll down his neck. “Since I’m a great deal older than you, is it weird that I find you incredibly attractive?”

He falters for just a moment, nearly falling over mid-swing, but quickly rights himself back up. “Not as weird as _my mom_ finding me attractive. Unless you meant baby-me. That would probably be weirder.”

“No, not baby-you. Definitely the sexy, legal adult-you.”

His cheeks redden, though it could just as likely be from the recent physical exertion than anything else. He thrusts and parries and swings the sword over his head in a large arch.

“So,” you drawl. “Do you think it would cause some sort of paradoxical rift in the space-time continuum if I kissed you?”

He darts his eyes to the side, looking unsure of how to respond to that. “I… don’t know?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Want to find out?”

He forgoes his sword practice altogether now, arms hanging limply at his sides and face so red you know for _a fact_ that there’s no way it’s from the workout. “Are you…” He pauses to swallow a lump in his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Depends.” You bat your eyelashes much too innocently to be believable. “Is it working?”

“Uhhhh…”

You pick yourself up from the ground and stride towards him, putting an extra oomph in your step and an exaggerated sway in your hips. Trunks just blinks owlishly as you make your way closer to him, his eyes glued to the devilish curve of your lips. When you’re close enough to touch him, you allow your index finger to trace along the line of his jaw.

He gulps.

“So, Trunks,” you flash a smile bright with teeth. “How’s about you and I create the sexiest time paradox imaginable?”

You lean in slowly to kiss him and, for a moment, you think he’s going to let you. Just before your lips meet, he places his free hand on your shoulder and gently pushes you back.

You cross your arms and pout. Trunks slides his sword back into its sheath, giving you his full attention.

“Look,” he starts, cheeks still red. “I’m _very_ flattered, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested, but now isn’t the right time. After this business with the androids is taken care of, maybe we can, _I don’t know_ , see where this leads?”

It’s not exactly the answer you were hoping for, but it’s not an outright rejection, either. “Hey,” you offer him a crooked smile. “Any time you want to get freaky, you know where to find me.”

He smiles back, awkward and genuine.

You decide to spare the poor boy any more embarrassment and leave him to his training. You spend the next half hour chatting with Bulma and loudly cat-calling at Krillin and Yamcha just to make them feel self-conscious. Your wolf-whistling is interrupted by the sounds of mass destruction coming from the city and that’s their cue to leave.

You sigh as you watch them fly off, the sound a mix of something forlorn and dreamy.

Bulma is not nearly as content as you to be left behind. “It’s so unfair! It’s not like I plan on fighting or anything; I just want to get a good look at the androids.” Her foot taps rapidly in irritation.

You stare intensely as Bulma bounces her baby up and down in her lap. You squint your eyes. It’s hard to imagine that same little kid sitting on Bulma’s knee will become the firmly-muscled sex machine you were just recently flirting with.

She notices your staring. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Can I?”

She smiles big and bright. “Of course you can! I’ve been holding him all day. No way am I going to say no to a break.”

Bulma hands her bundled up son over to you. You hold him close to your chest, cradling him as if he’s something fragile. He puffs his cheeks and tugs a piece of your hair as you stare deeply into his big blue eyes.

“Baby Trunks,” you speak softly to him, voice warm and gentle. “One day, many years from now, you’re gonna’ be so super hot. And when you are, I’ll be there like a cougar waiting to pounce on its prey, ready to make out with you.”

Bulma gives you a weird look before promptly pulling her baby out of your arms and back into her lap. “…You’re not allowed to hold Trunks anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	7. To Hell And Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Wea from Lunaescence, who wanted a dead spirit reader getting rescued from some baddies by a real genuine badass. For a filler character, this dude is rad.
> 
> **You x Pikkon**

You shouldn’t be here.

You’re a good person. You eat your vegetables and floss your teeth and pay your taxes and never drive more than five miles over the speed limit.

And now you’re dead.

But that’s not even your _biggest_ problem. Somehow, during all the confusion and excitement of hundreds of thousands of souls flooding the gates of the afterlife, you’ve ended up in a little slice of the Other World called the Home for Infinite Losers; which, as far as you can tell, is just Hell with a silly name meant to knock your self-esteem down a peg. Because just being in Hell isn’t punishment enough, apparently.

But even _that_ is not the worst of your problems right now, though it is indirectly responsible for it. Because if you weren’t down here, there’s no way you would be running for your life—afterlife?—from a strange group of people—aliens? demons?—wearing what you can only describe as battle spandex.

And what you’ve done to provoke this group of burly men to chase you down? Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. As your luck would have it, you happened to stroll by just in time to hear the tail end of a devious plot to usurp HFIL.

So here you are, hauling ass along the smoking rocky landscape of Hell, unable to even stop and take in the scenery because you’re being hunted down by the alien Satan version of The Village People.

You take a sharp left at a rock wall, hoping to lose them among the mountains of brimstone, but instead find yourself face-to-chest with a big dumb-looking goon with a stupid tuft of red hair sticking out from the top of his scalp. Unfortunately for you, he looks about as strong as he looks stupid and, _damn_ does he look stupid.

You turn around to find your only escape route is blocked by a long-haired pretty boy with wicked sunburn so bad his skin is bright red and a blue snake guy who’s even bigger than the big stupid guy.

You gulp. “Is it too late to mention that I’m really good at keeping secrets?”

“Sorry, squirt,” says a little green butterball as it floats over and lands next to the big guy. “But Lord Frieza doesn’t like having any loose ends.”

Well, it looks like this is the end of the line for you. You’re going to die. _Again_. What even happens to a soul when it dies, anyway? Do you end up in a deeper level of the Other World or do you disappear from existence entirely? Whatever the case, you hope it doesn’t hurt too badly.

You close your eyes tight and wait for the finishing blow. And wait. And wait. And wait some more.

You gather enough courage to open a single eye and both your eyeballs nearly pop out of your head at the sight you’re met with: the four men who were chasing you are getting their butts kicked by a tall mysterious green-skinned man. _Literally_ getting their butts kicked. You watch with gaping jaw as the butterball gets a swift kick to the hindquarters and is punted several yards in the air before slamming into the side of a cliff.

The big dopey-looking guy doesn’t seem too happy about that and charges straight for your mysterious savior.

“Look out!” you shout, but either the man doesn’t hear you or just doesn’t care. He remains perfectly still, allowing the spandex-wearing behemoth to close in on him.

The big guy pulls back his fist, preparing a punch with so much force behind it that it could probably knock a person’s head clean off their shoulders. Still, your savior seems unconcerned. Just as the punch is about to make contact, the green-skinned mystery man lifts his leg and delivers a blow straight to the big guy’s chin. Teeth fly out of his mouth as he goes down for the count.

And that just leaves Red and Blue.

“This guy thinks he’s pretty tough,” Blue comments snidely to his friend.

“So, you think you can stand in the Ginyu Force’s way?” asks Red with way too much confidence for someone who just witnessed half of their team getting their asses handed to them. 

Blue crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Looks like we’ve got to teach this guy a lesson.”

“I’m the Ginyu Force’s Red Magma, Jeice!” shouts Red.

“I’m the Ginyu Force’s Blue Hurricane, Burter!” barks Blue.

“And together,” they shout in perfect unison. “You’re no match for us! Purple Comet Attack!”

A large spike of bright purple energy surrounds the two of them as they power up their attack.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth. That attack looks like it’s pretty strong.

Your savior keeps the same neutral expression he’s had on his face throughout the entire fight as he disappears into thin air.

Mere seconds later, he reappears from out of nowhere and clotheslines the both of them. They each clutch their stomachs, cough out something that looks like it might be blood, and collapse onto the ground in a pitiful heap.

You stare at the fallen men, then back to your savior. “ _Holy shit_.”

“Are you alright?” It’s the first thing you’ve heard him say and you’re a little caught off guard. You didn’t expect someone with so much power to sound so genuinely concerned for your well-being. You feel your cheeks heat under the intensity of his gaze.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay.” You’re certainly doing better than the four men bleeding and twitching on the ground.

“Good.” He turns his back to you, slowly walking away.

You just stare at his back, unsure what to do.

He must sense your hesitation because he looks at you over his shoulder. “Follow me, lost soul. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

You grin. “You don’t have to tell me twice, handsome,” you reply, quickly jogging into step next to him. “After what you just did for me, I’d follow you _anywhere_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	8. Spoiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon on Lunaescence, who wanted some King Cold crack. I felt like exploring the reader’s relationship with Frieza from the first one-shot, [so consider this a sequel to Pet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8573584/chapters/19656670). It’s short and I’m not sure if this is exactly what you wanted, but I hope you like it all the same.
> 
> **You + King Cold, implied You x Frieza**

“Frieza, what did I tell you about letting your pets sit at the dining table? You’re going to spoil it rotten.”

Frieza frowns. “It’s _my_ pet, Father. If I want to spoil it, that’s my business.”

You say nothing. Frieza may enjoy your smart mouth and dry sense of humor, but you’re not so willing to try your luck with a man named King Cold. You continue to cut your suspiciously purple chunk of mystery meat into bite-size pieces.

“Maybe so, but you’re not the only one who has to live with it.” King Cold scowls in your direction and you pretend to not notice. “I don’t want it shedding its weird head fur where we eat. It’s unsanitary.”

“Really, Father.” Frieza rolls his eyes before turning towards you to correct the way you’re holding the silverware. He switches the fork from your right hand to your left, keeping his hands over yours as he guides you in the motions of properly slicing the space steak or whatever-it-is. Satisfied with your newly improved table manners, he returns his attention back to his father. “You’re making a fuss over nothing. It’s not even all that furry.”

“And yet the fur it _does_ have always ends up all over the furniture and my armor. I don’t even get close to the thing so how does its fur end up on _my_ wardrobe.”

“I don’t know, Father.”

King Cold purses his lips. “You should just shave the thing.”

You nearly choke on your bite of space meat.

“I’m not shaving it.” Frieza pats your back to ease your coughing fit. “I happen to like its fur.”

You manage a neutral expression as his hand moves from your back to your scalp to finger a lock of your hair. You don’t care much for the gesture but you’ll tolerate it if it means you won’t have to wake up tomorrow _bald_.

King Cold leans back in his chair. He takes a slow sip from his wine glass. “How did I ever raise such a stubborn son?”

Frieza raises his own glass. “Well, I _am_ my father’s child.”

The corners of King Cold’s lips curl. “Oh _you_ ,” he says with a flippant wave of his hand.

The two cold-blooded psychopaths share a laugh and a drink. You take another bite of space steak to keep yourself from saying something smart.

“Fine, Frieza. It’s your pet; do with it as you wish.” The self-proclaimed King of the Universe gently sets his wine glass back down on the table. “Just don’t come crying to me when it wakes you up in the middle of the night, pregnant and craving pickles dipped in mint chocolate chip ice cream.”

“What?”

King Cold sighs wistfully. “Just like your mother.”

You and Frieza share equal looks of confusion and horror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	9. It's A Piece Of Cake To Bake A Poison Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Tsula from Lunaescence (though I believe she’s here on AO3 as well) who thought it would be neat to see a fic with this character and I was inclined to agree with her.
> 
>  
> 
> **You x (Super) Buu**

You’re a fighter.

Maybe not in the literal sense like your friends who beat down baddies like it’s their day job, but in the face of adversity you’ve never been the type to roll over and play dead. When you see a challenge you face it head-on, no matter how high the odds are stacked against you, even if you know you’re going to lose, because that’s just the kind of person you are. You don’t know if that makes you brave or just stubborn. What you _do_ know is that you’re going to do everything in your power to protect your friends, even if it kills you.

So when that pink menace shows up at Kami’s Lookout looking for a battle, you know exactly what you must do.

“Where are you going?” Dende calls after your retreating form.

You don’t even bother to look back over your shoulder. “I’m going to save your lives.”

When you return several hours later, wheeling two covered metal carts, Buu is still there. He’s sitting in front of an hourglass, watching the grains of sand fall down one by one. By his feet you see dried-up yoke and a broken egg shell; the remains of one of your friends, no doubt. The bastard didn’t even bother to eat them.

You feel terror and a blood-boiling rage, but you swallow it down. Neither of those emotions will aid you now. Instead, you force a smile on your lips. It’s obviously fake but you doubt the big idiot will know any better.

“Hey, Buu!”

He turns towards you, neck stretching at an unnatural 180 degree angle.

“You like sweets, huh? Then eat this!”

You pull the tarp off the first cart with a flourish to reveal a plethora of various homemade sweets; cookies, fudge, puddings, and all kinds of sweet breads litter every inch of the cart’s surface.

“These are sweets…” A stream of vicious-looking drool slides down his chin.

“They sure are. And they’re all yours.”

He looks back to you and blinks.

“Well, what are you waiting for? A written invitation?” You place your hands on your hips, smile faltering. “Eat up!”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He picks up the whole cart, tilting it at a steep angle so that all the goodies pour directing into the gaping black hole that masquerades as his mouth. All those sweets you spent hours making are gone in mere seconds. You’re surprised he doesn’t eat the cart while he’s at it.

He smacks his lips and lets out a satisfied belch when he’s finished. _Charming_.

“Alright Pinky, I hope you saved room for dessert!” You flash another fake smile as you push the second cart in front of him. With a flourish even more overdramatic than the last, you pull away the cart’s cover to reveal a seven-tier cake so ridiculously oversized that it towers over both you and Buu.

Something that looks like a tear slides out of the corner of Buu’s eye but you pay it little mind.

“I call it the Hell Cake! Seven layers of rich, decadent devil’s food cake with a hot chocolaty magma center. Smothered in home-made cream cheese frosting, decorated with freshly-picked strawberries, and served with vanilla ice cream on the side, it’s a dessert as delicious as it is sinful. Not to mention it has a super secret ingredient to tie all the flavors together, making this edible masterpiece simply to die for!”

Little does he know, in spite of your complete lack of subtlety, the secret ingredient is a liberal amount of rat poison you mixed into the batter. And by _liberal_ , you mean that the cake mix is literally half pure rat poison. That cake could end a war by taking out an entire army. It’s your own little Trojan horse, except instead of getting past the gates of a well-guarded city, it just has to pass between Buu’s much-less-guarded lips.

You watch in a mix of horror and awe as the terrible creature stretches its mouth open to snake-like proportions and eats the top two layers of your Hell Cake in a single swallow. He repeats the process with the next two layers and the two after that. The final layer, he tosses up into the air, stretches his mouth open wider, and allows the last piece of cake to land harmlessly straight down his gaping throat-hole.

His face is covered in crumbs and icing which he quickly licks away in a cartoonish display involving a disproportionately large tongue.

“You… You ate the _whole_ cake.”

“Yeah.” He licks some icing off his fingers. “It was good.”

“How are you still standing?”

He tilts his head to the side. “…With my legs?”

You just stare at him blankly. It doesn’t make any sense. No living thing should be able to consume that much poison and keep breathing. He should be feeling some adverse side effects, at the very least; fatigue, a stomach ache, _something_.

“Where’d you get those snacks?”

“I made them,” you answer simply. If you’d been thinking, you probably would have lied and said you bought them, but you’re too busy trying to wrack your brain around how he’s survived after eating enough poison to take out a small city to think of much else.

“You made _all_ those sweets? By yourself?”

“Um, yeah?” You flinch as his arms stretch out and grab you by the shoulders.

“How?!” He shakes you hard enough to make your eyeballs spin in their sockets. “How did you make them so good!?”

“I dunno, I just made them. The fact that they were made from scratch and not transformed earthlings probably has something to do with it.”

He doesn’t seem to catch on to the accusing tone of your voice. Instead, he just stares at you with wide-eyed wonder. He keeps that same dumb look on his face as he bends down on one knee before you.

He holds your hands in his. “Marry me.”

“What?”

Next thing you know, you’re tossed over the pink abomination’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

“ _What_?!”

Then you just see Kami’s Lookout getting smaller and smaller as the pink monster flies away, carrying you off to who-knows-where.

“WHAT?!?!?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	10. Eye Of The Beholder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by dragonfly from Lunaescence (AKA dragonfly_reborn here on AO3), who wanted something for this seriously underrated three-eyed dreamboat.
> 
> **You x Tien**

“What are you staring at?”

“N-nothing.” You quickly turn away, cheeks heating in embarrassment. This is the third time the man has caught you staring at him from across the tea shop, though just the first time he’s called you out on it.

You’re not trying to be rude or anything; you just can’t help yourself. You’ve never seen anyone like him before. He’s just so… _so_ …

You’re snapped out of your train of thought when you see him come walking your way, his lips set in a firm line. You cover your face with your hand and will yourself to just disappear into thin air but it must not work because he stops right in front of you. You try pretending like you have no idea he’s there, but he’s patient and waits silently. You peek out from behind your fingers and see his grim look aimed directly at you.

“Go ahead and ask.”

You blink. “Um, e-excuse me?”

“You’ve been staring my way for the last ten minutes. I get it; you’re curious about my third eye. So just go ahead and ask your questions now so we can get this over with and move on with our lives.”

“Um,” you blush, twiddling your fingers in your lap. “I wasn’t staring at your eye.”

His frown deepens. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Your eyes widen and you finally force yourself to fully meet his gaze. “N-no! I mean, I _was_ looking at your eye, but not _just_ your eye. I was looking at your whole face. You’re…” You gulp, face so hot it feels like you’re on fire. “You’re a very handsome man.”

His cheeks turn pink. “ _Oh_.”

“I’m so sorry!” You get up to leave, face burning with embarrassment and your eyes averted, but find yourself unable to make your swift getaway. You look down to see a large hand gently yet firmly clasping your wrist. You keep staring at that hand because you know if you make eye contact you just might explode from complete and utter humiliation.

“Wait!” He releases your wrist and clears his throat. “Look, I’m the one who should be apologizing. It was rude of me to come over here and accuse you like that. I’ve just been on edge lately and I was looking for any excuse to start a fight.”

You twiddle your fingers together. “Well, I _was_ staring. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. That was extremely rude of me. Please, allow me make it up to you somehow. Let me to treat you to lunch.”

“You really don’t have to do that…”

“I know I don’t _have to_ , but I won’t forgive myself unless you let me do _something_ for you. So, please, let me do this!”

It’s the sincere, almost desperate tone of his voice that draws your eyes back up to his face. You’re taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. You’ve never had someone look at you like this before. It’s really embarrassing and makes you feel uncomfortably self-aware of how warm your face is and how much your palms are sweating but it’s also kind of flattering in a terrible heart-pounding, nausea-inducing way.

“Okay,” you relent.

He leads you over to the table where he was sitting before. He pulls out a chair for you and after only a moment’s hesitation you take a seat. He sits across from you and pours you a cup of tea from the steaming pot at the center of the table.

“Let’s start over. My name’s Tien,” he says, sharp features set in a charming smile and hand outstretched towards you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You take his hand in yours and it’s large and rough with calluses but so very warm. You can feel a heat spreading in your cheeks but it’s nothing compared to the heat pressed to your fingers. “Hello, Tien. The pleasure’s all mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	11. Lie Back And Think Of Planet Vegeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by TheRandomAnon from Lunaescence, who wanted to see my take on a Vegeta story with a full-blooded Saiyan reader. Unfortunately, my take on a Vegeta romance is far from romantic.
> 
> **You x Vegeta, heavily implied Vegeta x Bulma, slight You x Bulma**

You hate a lot of things; cold baths, musicals, the sound that results from rubbing two pieces of Styrofoam together, etcetera. Extreme, prejudiced hate is just a normal part of life when you’re a member of a highly aggressive warrior race. But if there’s one thing you hate more than anything else—second only to planet-destroying space lizards with stupid ice-themed names—it’s the feeling of somebody else’s eyes on you.

You try to ignore it—really, you do—and thanks to the delicious meal in front of you, you almost succeed. Still, there’s only so much that a woman can take before she finally snaps.

“What are you looking at, punk?” you ask around a mouthful of pre-chewed turkey leg. “You ain’t never seen a woman eat before?”

Vegeta keeps the same neutral expression he’s been holding for the past five or so minutes, hands folded under his chin and narrowed eyes locked on you. “You’re a Saiyan.”

“Yeah, so are you, but you don’t see me staring back at _you_ like a jackass.”

“You’re a _female_ Saiyan.”

“Holy crap, somebody get this guy an award! Your powers of observation are beyond compare.”

Vegeta doesn’t respond to that, but he doesn’t stop his staring either.

You don’t see what the big deal is. Sure, planet Vegeta was blown to smithereens and, yeah, _okay_ , most of the Saiyan race was on the planet at the time, but obviously _some_ survived. The little prince, for one. Plus a handful of soldiers who were conquering other planets in Frieza’s name. You’re endangered, _maybe_ , but hardly extinct.

How you ended up on this dirtball of a planet where a few of your kin were holed up was just a happy coincidence. And by _happy coincidence_ , you mean you headed straight to this backwater planet as soon as you heard Frieza kicked the bucket. It seemed like a good idea at the time; to meet up with your kinsmen who took down that intergalactic tyrant, congratulate them, maybe see what’s so special about this rock out in the middle of nowhere that somehow charmed your fellow Saiyans into staying here and protecting it.

Now, though, you’re not so sure.

While the river of your hate runs deep and true, this planet’s actually alright in your books. It’s a little too peaceful for your liking and most of the inhabitants are weak, but there are still some strong warriors around worth sparring with. Not to mention the food here is some of the best you’ve ever had! But the present company? Well, it’s almost enough to get you to cramp yourself back into your little space pod and go check out the next closest galaxy.

You consider doing just that, but there’s a pile of steaming hot mashed potatoes on your plate that require your immediate attention. The space pod can wait; the potatoes will only be warm for so long.

You take about two bites of starchy deliciousness before the feeling of being watched begins to spoil your appetite. Well, _almost_. You eat three more spoonfuls of potatoes and take a vicious bite from your turkey leg before turning back to Vegeta.

Okay, your appetite hasn’t left you, so that’s good, but the last thing you need is some full-of-himself prince at least ten years your junior staring at you as if you look like Frieza with boobs. Now _there’s_ an image you could do without. Especially while you’re eating.

“What the hell do you want?” you ask through a mouth full of food.

“Breed with me.”

You choke on a long chunk of turkey meat. “What?” you manage to rasp out between a violent string of hacking coughs.

“You heard me, woman. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Don’t you have a wife? Girlfriend? Alien baby’s mama?”

“Hey,” says Bulma who’s apparently been sitting at the table with you the entire time. “Leave me out of this. The last thing I need is for him to bitch at me for standing in the way of repopulating the Saiyan race.”

“See? Even the earth woman understands how important this is.”

“Besides,” she adds. “Vegeta said I could watch.”

You give her a dull look.

“You know, for science,” she clarifies, though the smirk on her face says that’s not the case.

Vegeta crosses his arms over his chest. “We have a duty to continue the Saiyan race.”

“A duty to who? A dead king who blew up with the rest of our planet?”

“A duty to our race!” He slams his fist against the table, splitting it in two. Bulma shouts at him but the two of you tune her out. Vegeta’s too enraged with you while you’re too busy mourning the loss of your plate of warm food. “Have you no Saiyan pride, woman?”

“I have plenty of pride. I’m prideful enough that I won’t just bend over and spread my legs to pop out a baby for the spoiled prince of a dead kingdom just because he tells me I should.”

“You would doom the future of our race out of pure stubborn force of will?!”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you would attempt to continue it for the same reason?”

He makes a sound that’s something between a groan and a gurgle as he presses two fingers to his temple. It’s the kind of sound you’d expect from someone after getting punched in the stomach. Or while experiencing a brain aneurysm. “I’d say you’re the most frustrating Saiyan I’ve ever met but you’re still not half as bad as Kakarot.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Okay, say we _do_ have a kid or two. What then? Who are they going to mate with? Kakarot? Each other?” You maintain eye contact with him as you pick up your food from the floor and take a slow, deliberate bite from your turkey leg. “Yeah, _no thank you_.

He scowls and the little vein on his prominent forehead throbs in a very distracting way but he doesn’t seem to have anything smart to say in response. Probably doesn’t want to admit he didn’t think his plan through.

“Just face it, prince; the age of the full-blooded Saiyans is over. Besides, the half-breeds seem to be doing just fine. They’re stronger than _you_ were at that age, aren’t they? Maybe even stronger than you are _now_.”

That must strike a chord with him because his face turns red as he stiffly stands up from his chair and stomps straight out of the kitchen.

“Hey, where are you going?” you call after him. “I said I didn’t want to _breed_ with you; I never said I was opposed to having sex.”

“As if I want to lay with a self-centered hag like you! Your uterus is probably shriveled up anyway!”

You shrug your shoulders as you bite off the last sliver of meat from your turkey leg. You wipe grease on your pants leg as you turn back towards the earth woman. “How about you? You still interested in the Saiyan mating process?”

She never takes her eyes off the splintered remains of her kitchen table. “I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Fair enough,” you say as you get up to go help yourself to what’s in the fridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	12. Winging It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by dragonfly (AKA good ol’ dragonfly_reborn), who wanted some Krillin friendship fic with a possible wingman! reader helping him hook up with his canon bae. Guys, you have no idea how happy this request made me. I’m always down to clown when it comes to canon Dragon Ball pairings.
> 
> [This is also a kind of spiritual sequel to Do Androids Dine On Electric Sheep. Read to the end and you’ll know why.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8573584/chapters/19693999)
> 
>  
> 
> **You + Krillin friendship, Krillin x Android 18**

He’s doing it again.

“Krillin,” you snap at him. “Close your mouth or you’ll start drooling.”

He blinks slowly, eyes shifting from the pretty blonde girl across the way and back to you. “What?”

You scowl. “At least try to make your ogling look a little more subtle. You’re staring at the girl like some kind of slack-jawed yokel.”

“I am _not_ ,” he replies, indignant, but clamps his jaw shut all the same.

You roll your eyes at your friend. “You’ve been watching her nonstop since she got here, dude. Why don’t you just go over there and talk to her already?”

He looks down at his hands. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You’ve got legs, don’t you?”

“And _then_ what? What would I even talk to her about?”

“I dunno,” you fold your arms behind your neck. “Normal things. Sports, the weather, how much you want to give her a big ol’ smoochy-smooch.”

His face turns red. “I do _not_.”

“You totally _do_.” You suck in your cheeks and pucker your lips and basically act as immature and obnoxious as humanly possible. “You want to give her a big wet kiss smack dab on that pretty little mouth of hers.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Shut up.”

“Aww, c’mon now, no need to fuss. You know I’m just messing with you, buddy. But seriously, real talk, you’ve got to go tell her how you feel. The shy guy routine is cute and all, but you can’t always rely on the girl to make the first move. You’ve got to be aggressive, Krillin. Put on your big boy pants, march on over to her, and ask that woman for her hand in marriage!”

“What the…? I hardly _know_ her; I can’t just ask her to marry me!”

“Okay,” you shrug. “ _Baby steps_. Ask her to be your girlfriend, then. Or, _heck_ , just ask her out on a date.”

“I _can’t_ ,” he whines and the sound is so sad and pathetic that it literally makes your chest ache for this tiny bald idiot you call a friend.

“Yeah, not with that attitude, you can’t. Look man, she likes you. She’s already kissed you; and that was back when you were still enemies, right? Since then, you used the Dragon Balls to wish a bomb out of her and her brother and _that_ was after you tried to wish her and her brother back to being human.” You place a hand on his shoulder which he immediately shrugs off. “Trust me, she’s into you. Now she’s just waiting for you to give a sign that you’re into her.”

Krillin presses the heel of his hand to his temple. “Why do you care so much about my sad, nonexistent love life anyway? Why can’t you just let this be?”

You look him deep in his eyes. “Because you’re my friend, Krillin, and friends help friends. They help each other move furniture, they help each other fight earth-threatening villains, and they even help each other pick up chicks.”

He looks at you with an unimpressed, disbelieving expression.

“Also, you’re no fun when you’re lovesick and it’s really starting to bum me out. So _please_ , go over there and talk to her or I’ll _make_ you talk to her.”

He snorts. “Yeah, _okay_ , as if you could make me do anything.”

You give him a challenging glare.

He raises a single eyebrow. “You wouldn’t.”

You slowly stand up from your seat.

“Don’t do it.”

You take a step towards him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t you dare do it.”

You take two more steps, grab hold of his shoulders from behind, and start steering him towards 18. He struggles weakly in your grasp but you stay firm and just keep on pushing. You know that if he used his full power he could break free, no sweat, but he holds back, most likely out of fear that he’d hurt you if he tried.

He’s a good man, that Krillin. Unfortunately for him, you’re not half as good a person as he is and have absolutely no qualms against taking advantage of his misguided good nature. Maybe it’s a little cruel on your part, but it’s time for your baby bird to finally leave the nest. Whether he spreads his wings and soars or falls to the ground is all up to him.

Several yards worth of half-hearted struggling and the two of you have reached your target.

“Hey, 18!” you call.

She turns your way, pale lips set in bored-looking frown that you’ve come to understand is her default expression. The fine lines of her eyebrows rise ever-so-slightly when she sees your shit-eating grin in tandem with Krillin’s panicked deer-caught-in-the-headlights look.

She turns back to you. “What do you want?”

“Oh, it’s not what _I_ want. Krillin has something important he has to tell you! Ain’t that right, buddy?”

You shove Krillin forward, nearly sending him crashing straight into 18’s chest. He catches himself just in time, smiling nervously up at 18.

“Um, hey,” he says, laughing nervously.

“Hey,” she replies. A pause. “You had something to say to me?”

“Uh…” Krillin turns towards you, desperate for a lifeline, but you’ve already done more than your share for one day.

“Don’t worry, buddy; I get it. You want me out of here so you can pop the question, right?” You grin. 

“No, that’s not—”

“I’ll just leave you two crazy kids alone.”

And with one last self-satisfied smirk, you slink away until you’re out of sight.

Of course, you’re too nosy to actually give the two of them any _real_ privacy. You get down on your knees and hide behind a potted plant, paying no mind to the dirt that clings to your legs and the errant leaves that slap against your cheek every time you turn your head. You’re much too emotionally-invested in the scene before you.

You can’t tell what they’re saying. You’re too far away to hear and it’s too dark out to attempt to read their lips. Whatever they’re talking about, though, it can’t be all that exciting, because they’re just kind of calmly standing next to each other. They’re not even looking at each other; just sort of staring off in the distance, star-gazing or whatever. _Boring_.

“C’mon, Krillin,” you whisper through grit teeth, “Don’t you dare wuss out now. Hurry up and make a move!”

Despite your urging, Krillin seems to be in no rush to do any such thing. He just opens his mouth and says something that makes one of 18’s eyebrows raise and the corner of her lip twitch.

You kneel there and watch them for you don’t know how long, but it’s long enough for your knees to get sore. There’s more chatting and soft smiles and even some quiet laughing. You’re about to give up and call it a day when 18 brushes some hair behind her ear and takes a step closer to your friend.

With bated breath, you watch 18 bend down and place a gentle kiss on Krillin’s lips.

You grin. “Atta’ boy, Krillin. ‘Atta boy.”

Confident that your friend can handle the rest on his own, you leave your hiding spot behind the potted plant to search for something to eat and maybe a change of pants.

That’s about the time that Android 17 lands gently at your side. He looks briefly towards Krillin and his sister before turning back to you. “Huh. You actually got him to confess to her. I can hardly believe it.”

“Yeah, well, it happened, so pay up, pretty boy.”

He sighs melodramatically. “A bet’s a bet.” Reluctantly, he pulls some crumpled bills and loose coins out of his pants pocket and places them into your open palm. You count the cash; $25.17 exactly.

You make a show of counting the cash twice before stuffing it in your bra. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	13. It Came From Planet Hot Pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by seaburst from Lunaescence who wanted a little fluff for her favorite character. Unfortunately, by the time I finished it, I realized it’s not very fluffy, but considering his character, the fact that the reader’s character survives the encounter could be considered fluff for him.
> 
>  
> 
> **You x Raditz**

It came from outer space.

Well, it came from the sky. The space stuff was simply speculation on your part and quite possibly the result of watching too many sci-fi movies.

Still, when you see a giant spherical object come hurdling towards the ground and crash-land with enough force to leave a giant crater upon impact, you do what any red-blooded human being would do. You pull your cheeseburger away from your mouth mid-bite, stick it in your back pocket for lack of a better place to put it, and go to check out the damage so you can brag about it to your friends later.

What you expected to see was some broken metal parts, debris, maybe a fire or two. What you didn’t expect was to see the perfectly-intact sphere open up to reveal an attractive man inside, no worse for the wear as he steps out of the pod.

It takes your brain a minute to process that. There was a man in there. A _man_ who just fell from _the sky_.

“It’s raining men.”

You stare at the man as he stretches his muscles, the hard lines and rivets of toned flesh flexing in a manner most pleasing to the eyes.

_Halleluiah._

Now, normally you wouldn’t go for a guy wearing hot pants but the sight of the hard muscles of his thick thighs and calves seem like an even trade-off for a bad sense of style.

Being the Good Samaritan that you are—and also wanting to get a closer look at those rippling muscles—you lean over the crater. “Hey, are you alright down there?”

The man looks up at you casually, not all that surprised by your presence. He ignores your question. “You!” he calls up to you with a voice as sweet as sin and smooth as a baby’s bottom. “Weak earth creature!”

“Yes?”

“Has your entire pitiful race been terrorized and conquered yet?”

“I can’t say we have been, no.” You pause a moment to think. “Well, unless you count the IRS. Or the federal government in general.”

“Nothing?” He sounds disappointed. “No instances of mass genocide or cities being razed?”

“No, sir. Not recently. At least, not on a global scale.”

“Hmph. How disappointing.” He crosses his arms over his chest, turning from you to his own musings. “What has Kakarot been doing all this time?”

“Hey,” you call down to him, interrupting him from his thoughts. “Are you an alien?”

“Technically. Though, to me, _you’re_ the alien.”

“Huh.” You’d never really thought of it that way before.

He sniffs the air. “I smell burnt flesh.”

“Burnt flesh?” You look around but see no fires or burning bodies. You check yourself out, patting yourself down, but find no injuries or seared flesh. You do, however, find the cheeseburger you left in your pocket. “You mean my burger?”

You pull the cold, nearly-forgotten cheeseburger out of your pocket, holding it up where he can see. He scents the air again and stares at it hungrily. Then he jumps out of the crater to land next to you.

Well, _jump_ isn’t exactly the right word. The crater’s got to be at least twenty feet deep; no one could just _jump_ out of it. It’s more like he bent his knees and made gravity his bitch.

Wordlessly, you offer the half-eaten sandwich to him and he snatches it from your hand. He looks it over for a moment, giving it another loud sniff before gobbling it down in a grand total of three bites.

“Hmm,” he says, licking the last remains of grease off his fingers. “That was almost as good as the flesh of my enemies.”

“It’s better when it’s warm,” you supply dully, not sure if his statement was meant to be a joke.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Well then,” he lifts his arm, open palm facing you like he’s asking for an awkward high-five. “It’s been _a blast_ , but I think our time together is—”

He stops himself short when the strange piece of equipment covering his left eye starts beeping. He lowers his arm to fool around with it, smirking at something that lights up on its display.

“Ah,” he grins, all sharp-toothed and devious. “There you are, Kakarot.”

Then he turns back to you with a dangerous glint in his eyes and a bad-boy smile and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t make you just a little bit weak in the knees.

“Thank you for your cooperation, earth creature. I’m in a surprisingly generous mood so, in exchange for your pleasant conversation and cold meat patty, let me offer you a little word of advice. When my people come to take this planet, don’t try to fight because you’ll just lose. Bend over and submit and you just might survive.”

“Are all your people as muscular and physically fit as you are?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, yeah,” you fan yourself as you give him one last quick look up and down. “I think I can do that.”

“Good,” he smiles and the look is anything but kind. “It would be a pity to lose one of the subservient ones.”

You should probably be a little offended by his comment, but you’re too busy staring at his tight ass as he flies away. Heck, you should probably be worried since he just revealed his race intends to invade your planet but you can’t bring yourself to be too bothered by any of that. It’s really hard to get upset when you’re looking at a booty that nice.

You let out a low whistle. “If that’s what all aliens look like, then beam me up, Scotty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	14. Hearts Over Smarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by badassbitch on Lunaescence because, really, how can you have a Dragon Ball one-shot collection without including the main character? So here’s some (sort-of implied, kind-of one-sided) Goku romance for you.
> 
> **You x Goku, Goku x Chi-Chi**

You’ve always had a bad habit of thinking with your heart instead of your brain. Some people would say that makes you a passionate person. Most the people you know say that makes you an idiot. 

Still, idiot or not, when you see a spiky-haired man in an orange gi fighting what must be the forces of evil all by his lonesome, you can’t just stand idly by and watch. No, you jump right in the middle of the battle with a song in your heart and a head full of stupid.

Unfortunately for you, your heart is the strongest muscle in your body, because whoever this evil-doer is, he’s _way_ out of your league. You punch and kick and, in one instance, _bite_ but the only part of him that you seem to wear down is his patience.

You stand your own for a little bit but, ultimately, the most use you are in the battle is causing a long-enough distraction while the spiky-haired man powers up and delivers the finishing blow.

You’re lying on the ground and feel as if at least half the bones in your body are broken but you’re still alive, so that’s a good thing. The spiky-haired guy’s okay too, if a little beat-up, and the evil-doer is down for the count so, overall, not a bad day.

“I don’t think he’ll be bothering us again anytime soon.” The man in the orange gi leans over your fallen body with a smile. He has a really nice smile. “Hey, you’re a pretty good fighter.”

You offer back a grin of your own. “Well, I got my butt handed to me, but thank you.”

“Maybe,” he laughs. “But you’ve got a lot of potential. Not everyone can take a beating like that and survive.”

“Thanks,” you repeat with a soft chuckle of your own. You’re in a lot of pain and it hurts to breathe , let alone laugh, but his good mood is infectious.

“I’m Goku, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Goku. I’d shake your hand, but…” you trail off, nodding your head towards your shaking limbs that refuse to lift no matter how hard you try.

“Looks like you could use a pick-me-up. Here,” he pulls something out of his waistband. “Eat this.”

You raise an eyebrow; it’s just about the only part of you that’s not too sore to move. “A bean?”

“A senzu bean.”

“Is it magic?”

“Kind of.” He pops it between your lips.

You suck it into your mouth, chew, swallow, and instantly feel revitalized. You stand up from the ground, look at your now bruise-free body, then turn to the man with a look of pure, dumbstruck awe. “It _is_ magic.”

He laughs again, long and loud and genuine and you find yourself laughing with him. You don’t even know what’s so funny. It just feels right, so you let it bubble out from deep inside your chest.

“Hey,” he scratches his cheek. “This might be kind of sudden, but how would you like to come live with me?”

“What?”

“With the proper training, I think you could become a powerful fighter.” He looks at you, eyes lit up with excitement. “Just thinking about it is getting my heart pumping. So what do you say?”

You _should_ say no. You may have just risked your life to try and help this man and, sure, he gave you something to heal your wounds, but you really know nothing about him. No one with half a brain would agree to pack up their things and move in with a guy they’ve only known for less than an hour. But when you look at that boyishly handsome man with the big grin, feel your stomach turning and your heart fluttering as you look into his large, soulful eyes, you know your decision has already been made for you.

You’re hopeless, but that’s to be expected. After all, you think with your heart first.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I’d like that.”

“Great! I’ll tell Chi-Chi to set an extra plate at the dinner table!”

Your heart stops. “Wait, who’s Chi-Chi?”

Soon enough, you come to find that Chi-Chi is his _wife_.

When she sees Goku, she rushes towards him with a warm smile that could melt glaciers. When she spots you, however, her lips turn and her eyes narrow into a stare that could melt all the polar ice caps and cause global devastation. Goku is blissfully unaware of all of this as he invites you into his home.

True to his word, a plate is set for you at the table despite the looks of death constantly thrown your way. You’re seated directly across from Chi-Chi and in-between a tall green slug man and Chi-Chi and Goku’s _son_. Awkward.

She glares across the table at you the whole time, eyes never leaving you as she slowly, deliberately chews her meal. Still, it doesn’t stop her from filling your plate up with steamed rice when you ask for seconds. Jealous wife she may be, she’s still a gracious host.

Goku doesn’t seem to sense the tension in the room, much too focused on gobbling down his fourth plate of food. Slowly, Chi-Chi’s glare shifts from you to him.

“Goku,” she finally speaks, voice strained with forced calm. “May I have a word with you?”

“Sure fing,” he answers through a mouthful of fried pork. He makes no move to leave the table, shoveling bite after bite inside his mouth.

Her eyebrows furrow. “In private.”

“But Chi-Chi!” He swallows down what’s in his mouth with a loud gulp. “ _Food_!”

And that must be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because her mask of calm completely dissipates, replaced with a shadowed expression that’s ten times more terrifying than any look you received from the guy you and Goku fought earlier today.

When she speaks, it’s with a voice that’s soft and quiet yet anything but gentle. “Fine. I didn’t want to cause a scene, but _fine_ , we’ll discuss it right here in front of everyone.”

Her fist slams against the table, causing all the plates of food to jump a couple inches in the air.

It’s at this point Goku finally realizes that all is not well within the Son household. He sets his utensils down. “Chi-Chi, are you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m mad!”

“Why?”

“Why? _Why_?! You don’t think there’s anything strange about you bringing another woman to come live at our house?!”

“Not really. I mean, Piccolo spends most of his time here and you seem used to it so I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“Leave me out of this,” the green man huffs. His comment goes ignored.

“I never wanted him in my house either but at least he’s not a woman!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. I thought you’d be happy to have another girl in the house. You two can bond over girly things. I’m sure you two will get along.” Goku rubs the back of his head. “I mean, she kind of reminds me of you when you were younger.”

“… _Oh_.” Chi-Chi looks down, shadows covering her eyes. “So I’m too old now, is that it?”

Oblivious he may be, even Goku’s aware he did _not_ say the right thing. “Chi-Chi, that’s not what I meant.”

But it’s already too late; Chi-Chi’s hearing none of that noise. Her fists clench and her face burns red with rage. “Goku, you pig!”

Goku just barely dodges the pot of steaming-hot rice aimed for his head. “I’m sorry!” He does _not_ , however, dodge the casserole dish. “Ow! Chi-Chi, I said I was sorry!”

The only answer he receives from her comes in the form of silverware being thrown his way like ninja shiruken.

You turn to the green man at your left. “Is it always like this here?”

He doesn’t look back at you; just closes his eyes and takes a slow sip of water from his glass. “You have _no_ idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	15. Sibling Rivalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon on Lunaescence who wanted a one-shot of someone just a little bit _Cooler_. *Ba-dum tsh!* This takes place during the same storyline as both [Pet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8573584/chapters/19656670) and [Spoiled](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8573584/chapters/19798441). And, also kind of requested by Random reader who expressed interest in another Frieza sequel, so here we are.
> 
>  
> 
> **You x Cooler, You x Frieza**

Frieza’s been obsessively primping you for the past hour.

The primping itself isn’t anything outside of the norm; most of your time is spent by Frieza’s side so it would only make sense that he ensure you look presentable. You’re his prized pet, after all, and the impression you leave on others is a reflection on him.

What’s odd is the extent to which he’s fixing you up. Usually he might just brush out your hair or attempt to straighten out a stray wrinkle in your blouse. Today, he has dressed you in some strange silk-like robe. It’s nothing like anything you’ve seen on Earth but you can tell it’s meant to be formal. He decorates your body with golden jewelry; bangles and earrings and a gaudy-looking choker that’s a little too tight around your neck. He holds your chin, gentle yet firm, as he paints your lips the same dark color as his.

You get a glimpse of your reflection in the full-length mirror and let out a low whistle. “I’m looking like the belle of the ball. What’s the occasion? Blowing up a planet today?”

He sighs, the sound surprisingly wistful. “If only,” he replies and leaves it at that.

You don’t press the issue. You’ve seen enough nameless minions smeared across the wall to know better than to pry.

When Frieza’s in one of these moods, the best thing to do is to get him out of it before you can become a potential scapegoat. Or find another scapegoat to sacrifice.

Lucky for you, one such scapegoat chooses that exact moment to enter the room.

One of the guards—Pineapple or Papaya or something else equally stupid and fruity—approaches. “Lord Frieza,” he says with a salute. “Lord Cooler’s ship has just arrived in the docking bay.”

Frieza’s tail twitches behind him. Usually the motion is followed by the death of another unimportant minion. Instead, Frieza huffs out a sigh from between pouty lips. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he answers, and every word comes out like it’s painful to say. “You’re dismissed.”

The soldier gives another dutiful salute before darting out the room, all too aware of how narrowly he avoided an untimely death.

Frieza scowls to himself as he slowly begins the trek to the docking bay. He gestures for you to follow him and you obey without question.

You stay silent during the trip, still unsure what’s gotten Frieza in such a foul mood. As you arrive at your destination, the answer comes to you in the form of a tall alien with purple and white markings. You don’t know too much about the different species that exist across the universe, but you think he might be the same race as Frieza and his father. Whoever he is, you know he’s the one that’s gotten Frieza all worked up because the moment Frieza sees the man his lips pucker like he’s bitten into something sour.

“Who’s that guy?” you ask, pointing across the room. “He looks like a tool.”

Frieza’s lips twitch. “That would be my brother.”

“Ah!” You bow your head. “My apologies, Lord Frieza!” Briefly, you wonder if today will be the day your smart mouth will get you killed.

“No need to grovel, pet. You’re correct in your assessment.” He crosses his arms behind his back. “He _is_ a tool.”

“I take it you two don’t get along?”

He gives you an annoyed, weary expression.

You raise your hands defensively. “Shutting up now.”

“A tool he may be, but he is still my brother and our father expects us to at least create the illusion that we are a fully functional family unit.”

You nod your head in silent understanding. Family reunions can be a pretty miserable experience.

You follow closely behind Frieza as he moves to meet the huge tool.

“Brother,” greets the tool. “It’s good to see you.” He eyes you briefly, but says nothing, turning his full attention back to Frieza.

“And it’s good to see you, Cooler.” Frieza forces on a smile. It’s the same smile he wears when he’s just heard some bad news and is only moments away from shooting the messenger, albeit a little more restrained. “You appear to be doing well.”

“If only I could say the same for you,” says the tool—Cooler, presumably—as he eyes Frieza’s mechanical parts with a critical eye. “It looks like you lost a fight.”

You watch the fine line of Frieza’s eyebrow twitch. Still, the smile remains, if that strained-looking tense line of his lips can even be considered a smile at this point. “If you think _I_ look bad, you should see what he’s going to look like when I get my hands on him.”

“Oh?” Cooler raises a brow. “So you mean you haven’t already taken care of him? How sloppy of you. Typical, but sloppy.”

Frieza grits his teeth but, surprisingly, does not murder anyone. He’s exhibiting an incredible amount of self-control. You’re kind of proud of him.

Instead, he begins to lead his brother and you out of the docking bay and towards his private dining room. He sits down at the head of the table and has you take a seat at his right side. Cooler sits at his left and directly across from you.

No sooner than a servant fills up Frieza’s glass with wine, one of his soldiers bursts into the room.

“Lord Frieza!”

“What did I tell you about interrupting me when I have visitors?” He lifts his finger and points it in the minion’s direction.

Sensing his imminent demise, the minion presses on. “But, Sir, it’s an emergency. It’s about Son Goku. We think we might have located him.”

His expression is carefully neutral. “For your sake, this better not be another false alarm.”

The soldier gulps and nods his head.

Frieza stands from his seat with a deep sigh. “Do excuse me, Cooler. Business calls. I’m confident that you’ll be fine without my company for a moment.”

Cooler smirks. “Somehow, I’ll manage.”

Frieza casts one last withering glance in yours and Cooler’s direction before following the solider out of the room.

With Frieza gone, Cooler sets his sights on you.

It’s unnerving the way he just stares at you, eyelids lowered and expression a practiced neutral. He could be thinking anything from what he’ll have for dinner to how easy it would be to snap your neck and toss your body out the airlock before Frieza gets back.

“So,” you drawl, filling the silence and hopefully interrupting any possible murder fantasies he might be having. “You’re Lord Frieza’s older brother?”

“Yes. And you must be my little brother’s newest toy.” He rests his chin in his hand. “Just between you and me, he’s a little old to be playing with dolls.”

“Actually, I think I’m supposed to be his dog,” you answer, flicking a finger against your choker.

You can’t see his mouth but you can sense the curl of his lips in the way that his eyes narrow as he focuses the intensity of his gaze on you. It’s the same look Frieza gets in his eyes whenever he’s particularly pleased with your wit.

You watch warily as he stands from his seat to circle around you.

“You say you’re his dog, but look at you; all adorned in shiny trinkets and useless baubles, put on display just for him to show off.”

He leans down from behind you to finger a lock of your hair. You don’t pull back but you don’t bother to hide your frown from him, either.

“He’s always put too much stock in frivolous niceties.” His fingers trail from your hair to your shoulder, lightly grasping at some of the loose fabric that has pooled around your collarbone. “He has a taste for extravagant material things with little practical application.”

You look to Cooler’s hand on your shoulder then back to his eyes, hoping he’ll catch the hint that his invasion of your personal space is not appreciated.

He smirks as he holds your gaze. He removes his hand from your shoulder only to take your palm in his. His hand is twice as big as yours.

“You can call yourself his toy or his pet; in the end, it’s all the same. To Frieza, you’re a pretty little trophy for him to show off until he grows bored and finds something new to entertain him. But to be carelessly tossed aside is not a fate befitting of a treasure such as yourself. He treats you like a possession.” Cooler’s eyelids lower as he brings your hand to his lips. “Come with me and I’ll treat you like a _queen_.”

You feel your face heat. “Uhhh…”

And that’s when Frieza kicks the door down and dramatically enters the room like you’re starring in a really bad soap opera.

“Get your own toy to play with, Cooler. This one’s _mine_.”

Cooler drops your hand, but makes no move to step away from you. “Yes, how could I not be aware that she’s yours? You’ve done everything to show your ownership of her short of branding your name into her forehead.”

“Maybe I do that because every time I get something new you try to steal it from me!”

“Only because you’ve had everything handed to you on a silver platter your entire life and have never appreciated _any of it_!”

Frieza barks out a laugh. “You call _me_ a brat but the only reason you want her to begin with is because she belongs to me!”

“And I think you took all this time to dress her up and put her in a collar like an animal, not only to show her off, but because you’re threatened that she’d run off with me first chance she could get if only to escape from you.”

Frieza’s eyes narrow as his tail whips back and forth behind him. “I guarantee my pet would never have any desire to leave me for you and she would know better than to even _try_.”

Cooler crosses his arms over his chest. “If you’re so sure of your _pet’s_ loyalty, then why don’t you let her decide?”

“Fine by me.” Frieza turns his icy cold glare to you. “Come here, pet, if you know what’s good for you.”

Cooler, meanwhile, merely crooks his fingers and stares you down with a come-hither gleam in his eyes.

You blink and rub your eyes. This can’t be happening. It’s too stupid to be possible. These are two powerful and highly-accomplished alien warlords. There is absolutely no way that they are using you to have a pissing contest with each other.

You close your eyes and count to ten, hoping that when you open them, you’ll be back to sitting quietly at the table listening to their stunted, awkward family bonding. Unfortunately, when you open your eyes, you’re still standing between two powerful highly-accomplished alien warlords who are fighting over you like a couple of children.

“Nope.” You refuse to be a part of this particular brand of bullshit. “Nope,” you repeat as you turn around, walk straight past the guard, out the room, and all the way to the docking bay.

“Hey, you’re not authorized to be h—”

“Nope,” you say as you push the random minion out of your way and step into one of the space pods.

“Nope.” You slam your fist against the console a couple times until it displays something back to you in an alien script. Lights flash and alarms blare as the pod launches out into space. 

“Nope!” you shout as you shoot across the stars, no idea where you’re headed but not caring as long as it means you’ll be far away from crazy homicidal alien overlords—who may or may not be your strange evil alien equivalent of a boyfriend—and their even weirder family members.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	16. Who Watches The Watchman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by dragonfly/dragonfly_reborn. Guys, I love this little green cutie so much, you have no idea. If I die young, bury me in Dende reader-insert stories.
> 
> Timeline-wise, this takes place sometime between the Cell and Buu sagas.
> 
> **You x Dende**

You let out a sigh of relief as you finally arrive at the top of Kami’s Lookout. You take a moment to collect yourself and wipe some sweat off your brow. “I’ve _really_ got to learn how to fly.”

Once you catch your breath, you spot Mr. Popo just across the way tending to some of the potted plants. He catches your eye and greets you with a smile and a friendly wave.

“Hey Mr. Popo,” you wave back. “Where’s Dende?”

He sticks a thumb out and gestures to the young Namekian standing vigilantly over the edge of the world.

“Figures,” you say with a sound that’s a mix between a laugh and a sigh. You give the friendly genie a final wave before leaving him to water the plants.

You sneak up behind Dende and place your hands over his eyes. “Guess who!”

The Namekian doesn’t even flinch. “You _do_ know I can sense your energy, right?”

“Geez!” You drop your arms to your sides with a pout. “Suck out all the fun, why don’tcha? Fun-sucker.”

He turns to face you with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay. You can make it up to me by spending some quality one-on-one time together.”

He bites his lip. “I really shouldn’t. Being the Guardian of Earth is kind of a fulltime job.”

“Hey, I came all the way up here to see you! And I don’t even have any fancy-schmancy flying powers!” You playfully jab at his shoulder with your index finger. “I think the rest of the Earth can watch over itself for a minute or two while we catch up.”

“Did you come up all this way just to guilt trip me?”

“No, I came all this way to spend time with you, but I guess a guilt trip is the next best thing.”

The two of you stare each other down, eyes unblinking. Dende flicks his antennae and you just raise your eyebrows and purse your lips.

“Okay,” he finally relents. “Just for a minute or two.”

You flash him a grin full of teeth. “I’ll be right back.”

You leave just long enough to go inside and grab a tray with two glasses and a pitcher of ice water. When you return, Dende’s already seated himself on the ground. His eyes are closed like he’s meditating but you’re pretty sure he’s just trying to sneak in a quick cat nap. You don’t even know if Namekians even _can_ sleep but he looks like he could use a couple solid hours.

You set the tray down, fill up a glass, and tap Dende on the forehead. When he opens his eyes, you hand him the glass and he takes big, greedy gulps as you pour a glass for yourself.

You take the empty glass from him and fill it back up. “When was the last time you had a drink?”

“I don’t really remember.” He accepts the glass from you, this time taking smaller, slower sips. 

You sigh. “You spend so much of your time and energy looking after everyone else that you forget to spare a moment to look out for yourself.”

“That’s because I know I have you to look out for me.”

Your cheeks heat a little at that. “Dende, if you weren’t an asexual slug person, I’d say that was almost romantic.”

He just shrugs his shoulders and smiles.

“Dork,” you snort, shoving at his arm. “Besides, Mr. Popo does a lot more for you than I do.”

“True, but he lives here. You climb a giant tower just to come watch over me.”

“Well, you watch over the rest of the world; it’s the least I can do.” You plop yourself down next to Dende, letting your legs dangle off the edge of the tower. “You really should think about installing an elevator.”

He barks out a laugh at that. “I’ll run the idea by Mr. Popo and see what he thinks about it.”

You lean back, arms supporting your weight behind you as you kick your legs back and forth. You’re so high up you think you could dip your toes in a cloud. “It sure is pretty up here, huh?”

“Yeah,” he answers, though he sounds a little distant. You wonder what he sees when he’s looking down at Earth and its blue skies and green grasses so different from that of his home planet.

“Do you ever get lonely?”

“Not really. I have Mr. Popo for company.” His lips quirk in a gentle smile. “And I’m fortunate enough to have a friend like you who comes to visit me so often.”

“Oh my god, can you get any cheesier?” you tease even as you reach a hand out towards his and squeeze his fingers.

He says nothing, just squeezes your fingers back in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	17. More Than A Pretty Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Anon on Lunaescence.
> 
> **You x Zarbon**

Despite what your parents would tell you in the many years back before your planet was purged of the majority of its inhabitants and sold for profit by a family of evil tyrant real estate tycoons, you are _not_ special.

You’re just one of Frieza’s foot soldiers; the lowest of the low, the bottom of the barrel. So when Frieza’s right hand man, Zarbon, stops you on your way to the mess hall, you can do nothing but stand at attention and hope you’re not about to be made an example of. Mostly because _examples_ in Frieza’s army have a mortality rate of about ninety-nine percent.

Still, you don’t know what else he could possibly want with you. Other than a few routine patrols working under his command, you haven’t so much as sneezed in the same room as him, let alone had a conversation with the guy.

Expecting a swift yet painful death, as is the norm for soldiers of your rank and level of importance, you’re surprised when the man quirks his lips in a devastatingly handsome smile.

“Would you be interested in joining me in my quarters for a private meal?” he asks with a flip of his braid over his shoulder.

You answer without a moment’s hesitation; “No thanks.”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “No?” He looks as if he’s never been rejected before and, with a pretty face like his, you suppose that’s probably true.

“No,” you repeat. “I’m extremely flattered by your attention, sir, but you’re not exactly my type.”

“Not your type?” He tilts his head to the side, completely baffled.

You can’t fault him for his confusion. You imagine that most girls probably go crazy for long-haired, smooth-skinned, pretty boys like Zarbon. It’s just poor luck that he’s managed to single out someone who prefers barrel-chested men with thick limbs and heavy brows. There’s no way he could have known you’d be more inclined to accept an invitation from _Dodoria_ than him.

You look the man directly in the eye, careful to keep your expression as neutral as possible. “I have nothing but the utmost respect for you, sir, but I’m not interested in any relationship other than that of a higher-ranking officer and their subordinate.”

To his credit, he quickly collects himself, folding his arms behind his back as he lets his eyelids lower to their usual bored-looking half-gaze. “Fair enough. I hope I’m correct in assuming that a solider of your skill and level of professionalism would not allow this moment to interfere with our working relationship.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Very good. Carry on,” he dismisses you with a flick of his braid behind his shoulder.

You offer a rigid salute before turning around and making your way back down to the mess hall.

**_~*~_ **

You’re violently brought out of your thoughts with another powerful ki blast to your gut.

As you keel over, you can’t help but twitch your lips into a smile. It’s funny, the things you think about when you’re knocking on Death’s door. Out of all the things you’ve done, _that’s_ going to be your final thought. Turning down your superior officer for a date. You try to laugh at the absurdity of it all but you can only manage a couple wet coughs laced with what you hope is mucous and not blood.

You’re lying on the ground with four other fallen members of your squad, weakened and vulnerable and facing your own mortality.

And the real kicker? The one responsible for the sad state that you’re in? Just a bold idiot who thinks that he’s got what it takes to defy Frieza. His attempts are futile, of course; no one can defy Lord Frieza; but you admire his spirit. You’d shake his hand if you weren’t sure he’d just blow yours off. Well, _that_ and the fact that you can hardly move what with the internal bleeding and all.

The most embarrassing part is that he’s not even any stronger than you or any other member of your squad. The only reason he’s gotten as far as he has is because he had the element of surprise on his side. After all, who would think to watch their back around their own platoon? You didn’t see it coming until it was already too late.

You grunt as he steps on your back. He has the heel of his boot pressed to your spine. The air around you grows heavy and warm as he charges another ki attack, this one aimed for the back of your skull. You wince, waiting for the finishing blow.

And then you feel it. There’s something heavy in the air; a strong power level headed your way. By the way the man tenses above you, you know he can feel it too.

You chuckle. Your chest heaves and aches with every contraction of your chest and lungs but you can’t stop laughing. “You’re going to die,” you taunt between wheezing laughs.

Your cheekiness is rewarded with extra pressure digging into your spinal cord. “Maybe I will, but not before you do, smart ass.”

The pain’s worth it, though, when you see Zarbon land nearby and feel the man above you trembling.

Zarbon surveys the field with his nose twisted in distaste. “It looks like you’ve made a mess of my men,” he says in a tone that sounds more like he’s reprimanding a child for an unkempt room than a traitor for murdering his squad.

The man above you is in no mood for banter, probably too scared out of his mind to think up any clever retorts. He unleashes a barrage of ki blasts straight for Zarbon, exploding all around him and stirring up dirt. When the smoke clears to reveal Zarbon, he’s no worse for the wear other than the frizzed, blackened state of his hair.

All three of you can only watch as the singed lock of hair falls to the ground in a burnt clump.

Zarbon stares at it for a moment, pretty features set in a practiced neutral expression other than the uncontrollable twitch of his left eyebrow. Then he turns his gaze up to the culprit responsible for the unforgivable assault to his luscious locks with a lightning in his gaze that crackles in the atmosphere.

That glare’s not even directed at you but it’s powerful enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Now you’ve made me _mad_.”

You watch in wide-eyed stupor as Zarbon’s body tenses and expands and in place of Frieza’s pretty right-hand man is a massive monster of a man, all thick-necked and thick-limbed and wide-shouldered and square-jawed and _definitely_ your type.

“Oh my,” you say, feeling your cheeks flush.

The man above you has a very different reaction.

“What the hell are you?!” he shouts and you take satisfaction in the way his voice cracks from fear.

Zarbon smiles. “Your worst nightmare.”

Even with your insides scrambled and your own blood dripping from your head wound into your left eye, you watch as Zarbon grabs the man above you with a speed that betrays his heavy form and throws him to the ground right in front of you. He stomps on the man’s spinal cord and even beneath the man’s yowl of pain you think you can hear the crunch of bone as it snaps in two.

Then Zarbon kneels down, knees on either side of the man’s body, and makes eye contact with you as he takes hold of the man’s head and crushes the poor sod’s skull between his meaty fists.

You’re splayed across the ground close to death, struggling for breath and surrounded by your fallen comrades, and you’ve never been more turned on in your entire life than you are right now.

The beastly man stands to his feet. With a growl and the sickening crunch of bones snapping in place, Zarbon reverts back to his original form, massive muscles shrinking down to their regular slim athlete’s build. He allows himself one last disappointed glance towards his singed braid before stepping past the mutineer’s corpse and leaning over you.

He looks down at you with his face covered in the blood of his enemies and his expression neutral. “Can you stand?”

“Y-yes sir.” You ignore the ache of your bones and sting of sore muscles as you force yourself on your feet. Your head spins with dizziness but you manage to stay standing from sheer force of will.

“Good. Gather the equipment from the fallen men. Lord Frieza would prefer we not waste any resources.”

“Yes, sir!” You take a step towards the nearest foot soldier, then pause. You turn back toward your superior. “Zarbon, sir?”

He raises a finely-trimmed eyebrow. “Yes, soldier?”

“Is that offer for a private meal still on the table?”

He quirks his lips into that devastatingly handsome smile of his. He’s still not really your type, but you think the pretty boy look is starting to grow on you. “We’ll see,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	18. Nice Guys Finish First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by dragonfly, badassbitch, and Anon from Lunaescence. Goten was kind of hard for me to get a grasp of his character, mostly because I’m more familiar with his child counterpart from Z and less so with his older GT self, so I hope it turned out okay.
> 
> **You x Goten**

Your date was supposed to be here over an hour ago.

Normally, you’d give the guy the benefit of the doubt; he might have a legitimately good reason for not being here. Maybe he got a flat tire. Maybe there was a family emergency. Maybe he got jumped on the street and is being held at gunpoint. But it’s hard to think the best of him when his online profile is currently blowing up with pictures of him living it up at a party and making out with multiple pretty girls who are _not_ you.

You’re angrily flipping through pictures on your phone, idly chewing on a cold steak fry when a dark-eyed, dark-haired boy slides into your booth to sit across from you.

“Hey,” he says with a smile that looks like he’s trying way too hard to be cool. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Well, yes, but you’re already sitting down so it’s kind of a moot point now.”

“I’m Goten, by the way.” He holds his hand out to shake but you just stare at him blankly. Slowly, he pulls his hand back, trying to save face by pretending he just wanted to rub the side of his neck.

You turn your attention back to your phone.

“So, can I buy you a soda or something?”

You lift your head up from your phone’s screen and make a show of looking in the direction of the glass half full of soda and nearly empty plate sitting at your right. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Oh,” he scratches the bridge of his nose. “Okay.”

You lower your eyes back down to your phone, doing your best to ignore the way his fingers tap the tabletop and failing miserably. You manage to last twenty more seconds of relentless tapping before you break.

“Could you _not_?”

“Oh!” He picks up his hands and places them in his lap. “Sorry.”

You get five seconds of blissful quiet before the boy feels the need to fill the silence.

“They make a pretty mean steak fry here, don’t they?”

You close your eyes, suck in a sharp breath, then exhale slowly through your nose. When you open your eyes back up, the boy is still there and showing no signs of leaving any time soon. You take in another deep breath through your mouth before you set your phone down on the table, giving the boy your undivided attention.

“So, is there a reason you’re talking to me, or…?”

“Of course! You just looked so upset so I was hoping I could come over and, I don’t know, cheer you up or something.” He scratches his cheek nervously, his cool-guy disguise slipping. “The fact that you happen to be a beautiful woman is just gravy.”

“Uh-huh.” You raise a skeptic eyebrow. “Have you ever even _talked_ to a girl before?”

“What? Of course I have. Lots of times!”

“Your mom doesn’t count.”

“Funny.”

“Thanks,” you flash a grin full of teeth. “I thought so too.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Ah, so you _can_ smile.”

You immediately force a frown back on your face.

“Nuh-uh, it’s too late! I already saw it! I’ve seen you smile now so your grumpy façade has been revealed. I bet you’re not half as mean as you’re pretending to be.”

“I don’t see how laughing at your expense is supposed to prove that I’m _not_ mean.”

“Well, okay,” he shrugs. “Maybe you’re a little mean, but at least you’ve got a sense of humor.”

You roll your eyes but this time you don’t bother hiding the slight curve of your lips.

Sensing your sudden change of mood, the boy presses on. “So,” he drawls, resting his elbows on the tabletop. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”

“Me? Isn’t it obvious? I just love going out in public to eat meals by myself like a sad, lonely sap. But what about you? What’s a lady-killer like yourself doing here without a lady?”

He stares pointedly at you. “I am with a lady.”

“Touché.”

“But in all seriousness, I was supposed to meet someone else here over thirty minutes ago.” He snatches a fry from your plate and pops it into his mouth. You narrow your eyes, but allow it. “I guess she bailed on me.”

“Small world. I just got stood up by some guy who I _thought_ liked me but turns out he likes partying and polygamous relationships more.”

“Sounds like a fun guy.” He steals another fry from your plate. “Maybe my date is hanging out with him.”

“Maybe.” You rest your chin in your open palm. “They sound like they deserve each other.”

He laughs, big doll eyes crinkling at the corners as his mouth opens into the biggest open-mouth grin you’ve ever seen. It’s attractive in a boyishly-charming kind of way and makes you feel like you want to smile and laugh too.

“That’s a winner,” you say.

“Huh?” 

“That big goofy genuine smile you’ve got when you laugh. It’s a lot nicer than that fake _cool guy_ smile you were trying to pull off earlier. Use your real smile when you’re talking to girls and you’ll find you get much better results.”

“Oh?” His smile switches back to that flashy smile that’s supposed to be debonair but just ends up looking really dorky on him. Surprisingly, it’s not an entirely unattractive look for him. “Are you falling for me?”

“Ha! You _wish_ , you goober! Besides, you’re not exactly the type of guy I typically go for.”

“Do you typically go for the type of guy who ditches you for parties and other girls? Because if that’s the case I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

You flick a fry at him and he catches it between his teeth.

It’s at that point you make a decision.

“Hey,” you say. “Give me your phone.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Why?”

“What? You think I’m going to run off with it or something?”

“Well, I _didn’t_ before now, but…”

You roll your eyes. “Just do it.”

Reluctantly, he hands the device over. You fiddle around with it for about ten seconds before handing it directly back to him.

“There. I put my number in your contact list.” You stand up from the table, pushing the plate holding the remainder of your fries towards him. “It’s been a blast and all, but I have to head out. I’ve got parties to crash, exes to shout at; you know the drill. But feel free to hit me up whenever you need advice on how to talk to girls.”

“You know,” he calls after you with that boyish grin of his. “If you wanted me to call you, you could’ve just said so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


	19. Homewrecker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by 1215, Mai Blade, and Tsula from Lunaescence who wanted this kai cutie as well as Reader and Random reader who expressed interest in a sequel to the previous Buu short [You x Buu, You x Supreme Kai](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8573584/chapters/19818895)

All-in-all, being Buu’s wife isn’t so bad.

When you were first spirited away by Buu, kidnapped by the horrible pink abomination to be his bride, you had the very real fear that he would lock you up in a bedroom and do unspeakable things to you. Within minutes of being alone with him, however, you came to find that those fears were completely unfounded. As it turns out, he has the mental capacity of a six-year-old and couldn’t care less about your body unless it was donned in a frilly baking apron and in the process of kneading dough. If he’d have you locked up anywhere, it would be in the kitchen.

So that’s how you find yourself in the kitchen of one of many of the abandoned homes left behind after Buu’s initial murder spree, staring the monster down as he glowers at his plate.

“Eat your eggs, Buu,” you tell him, your voice stern.

“I don’t want eggs. I want apple pie!”

“I’ll make you some tonight for dessert. Eat your eggs.”

He slams his fists against the table. “I want pie _now_!”

“You can’t have pie for breakfast. It doesn’t have nearly enough of the essential vitamins and nutrients needed to start your day.”

Honestly, for someone who’s eaten so many people, you’d think the guy would have enough protein in his diet. Apparently the nutritional value of a human being doesn’t transfer over when they’re turned into chocolate before they’re eaten. Who’d a thunk it?

“Pie! Pie! Buu wants pie!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Look, even if I started making a pie right now, it still wouldn’t be finished for hours. So, realistically—”

“PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!”

“I’m not baking you a pie for breakfast and that’s final! Now I don’t even want to see your big stupid mouth open unless it’s being stuffed full of eggs because I’m not making you anything else to eat until your plate is clean.” You place your hands on your hips. “Have I made myself clear?”

Buu stares you dead in the eyes but says nothing.

For one brief moment, you think you’ve won. But when Buu picks up his plate and holds it sideways at a steep angle so that all the eggs casually slide off the ceramic and onto the tiled floor with a wet-sounding _plop_ , all while maintaining eye contact with you, you realize how terribly wrong you are.

You look up from the mess on the floor and back to Buu. “Buu, clean that up.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Buu…” you draw out his name, tone of voice laced with warning.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t wanna!”

“Buu, if you ever want me to make you another meal again, you’ll apologize and clean up your eggs.”

“Why would I want your food if you just make me gross stuff? I can’t bake but I can make people into whatever I want.” He stands up from the table, stepping over the mess of eggs on the floor as he makes his way out of the kitchen.

You stomp after him. “And just where do you think you’re going?!”

“Out.”

“Out _where_?”

“Just out!”

You place your hands on your hips. “You’re just gonna’ turn a whole town of people into chocolate and eat until you get sick, aren’t you?!”

Buu doesn’t respond. He simply blasts a giant hole in the wall right next to the front door and flies off.

“Fine!” you yell after his quickly retreating form. “ _Don’t_ appreciate my cooking or all the time I spent making breakfast for you! Go out and fill up on people while I just throw all this food out! See if I care!”

You angrily stomp your way back to the kitchen, grumbling to yourself as you clean the eggs off the floor. You should’ve listened to your mother and got kidnapped by a nice rich doctor instead. Once the eggs are properly trashed and your floor is spotless, you turn your attention back to the mess of dirty dishes stacked in your sink. With a tired sigh, you set to work on them.

You’re furiously scrubbing grease off a frying pan when a purple man with a Mohawk starts climbing in through the window.

“What the f—”

He holds his index finger up to his lips. “Don’t worry; I’m a friend of Gohan’s. I’m here to rescue you from Buu.”

“Really?!” At the mention of both your friend’s name and the prospect of rescue, you immediately perk up.

“Yes,” he says as he pulls himself further inside. “ _Really_.”

He manages to squeeze his entire slim form through the small window, getting his boots and the bottom of his pants leg wet with soapy water when he accidentally slips a little bit in the sink. You hold your arm out to help him climb off the counter.

You pout a little at the water dripping from his pants leg and puddling at his feet. You _just_ cleaned that floor, too…

“We’ll need to hurry,” says your mysterious stranger, drawing your attention away from your trivial domestic housewife thoughts and back to the matter at hand. “Gohan’s distracting Buu at the moment, but that monster might figure out what we’re doing any second now.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Buu’s not exactly the figuring-out type. I think you might be overestimating his intelligence.”

“Maybe so, but we best not take any chances. Let’s go.”

He grabs your hand in his and you swear you can feel electricity shooting through his fingertips to yours. Or maybe that’s just static shock. Either way, it feels like _magic_.

You use this sudden closeness to get a better look at your mysterious savior. He’s got purple skin and pointed ears and sharp, handsome features. Admittedly, he’s a little shorter than you’d expect for someone who’s supposed to be your rescuer, but he’s dressed like a prince from a faraway land and he’s come to save you from a terrible monster. It makes you feel like you’re in a fairytale.

The longer you look at him, the more your cheeks heat up. He’s something beautiful and otherworldly; like a guardian angel. Or a movie star.

“Swoon,” you say aloud.

He tilts his head to the side. “What was that?”

“Spoon!” you say as you push him to the side. The two of you just narrowly avoiding the piece of silverware as it whizzes by your heads and hits the wall with enough force to deeply embed itself.

The both of you turn your attention from the spoon jutting out of the wall over to a very angry-looking Buu.

His eyes narrow. “How dare you try to steal my wife.”

The other man gives you a funny look. “Wife?”

“We’re not married unless you consider baking a seven-tier cake a legally-binding contract,” you’re quick to explain. “I’m single, FYI, and ready to mingle.”

“Uhh…”

“You can’t have her. You can’t have my wife.” Buu’s fists clench at his sides. “And you _definitely_ can’t have my pie!”

Your savior tilts his head to the side. “Pie?”

“Don’t listen to him. You can have me _and_ my pie, any time you want, cutie!” you say with a wink.

“What?” He blinks. “I don’t… _What_?”

“THAT PIE BELONGS TO BUU!”

A glowing white aura surrounds Buu, making the air around you feel tense and heavy even as floor tiles and kitchen appliances in his near vicinity defy gravity and hover around him.

Then a ki blast comes shooting out from the side of the building and sends Buu flying.

When the blast finishes and the dust settles, there’s a giant hole in the kitchen wall and Buu is lying face down in the dirt, several yards away. You frown at the damage done to the building that has been your home for the past couple days until you see Gohan peek his head in through the newly-created entrance.

“Are you two alright?”

You give him a thumbs-up to let him know you’re okay.

Relieved, he turns his attention to your companion. “Quick!” Gohan shouts. “Get her out of here before he gets up!”

The cute purple man gives a quick nod of his head before lifting you in his arms and shooting off into the sky. You sigh contently, nestling yourself in the crook of his neck.

“You smell nice,” you tell him. “Like fruit punch.”

“Uhhh… thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

You chance a glance backwards to check on Gohan and Buu. Buu’s back on his feet and, even from the incredible distance, you can see bursts of steam spout out of the holes on his head.

“GET BACK HERE WITH MY WIFE, YOU HOMEWRECKER!” he screams so loud you can still hear it over the distance and the rush of the wind in your ears.

“I THINK WE SHOULD SEE OTHER PEOPLE!” you shout back.

Whatever’s Buu’s response is, it’s cut off prematurely by Gohan sending another ki blast to the back of his stupid pink head.

You offer one final wave goodbye in his direction before turning forward and snuggling yourself comfortably into your new beau’s chest. “We would make such beautiful children,” you whisper against the cloth of his shirt dreamily.

“UHHHHHHH…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ For fic updates, reblogging sin, and the occasional random thought, feel free to hit me up at my tumblr. I'm rocksinmuffin and I am garbage, but, like, the fun kind of garbage. Occasionally NSFW so 18+ please.](http://rocksinmuffin.tumblr.com)


End file.
